The King and Queen of Hearts
by Mara-DragonMaster
Summary: After the coronation comes the rebuilding. Awarding those who risked and sacrificed. And slowly, with time, coming to know her own heart and the hearts of those around her—until one day the darkness she had once thought vanquished rises again. It moves secretly, stealthily, slowly, so that by the time they realize something is wrong, it is almost too late…
1. Chapter 1

**Snow White and the Huntsman**

**"The King and Queen of Hearts"  
**

**Chapter One  
**

* * *

_The Warld was finally healin'. Life was reclaimin' what had been Death's; things grew green. Th' people grew strong._

_All was as it should be._

_In th' castle, full aef life an' light, was their Queen._

_Snow White._

_She ruled with Grace an' Justice, as beautiful an' as strong as th' rose she was born fraem._

_All waur happy._

_Yet e'en oan th' brightest day, thaur is shadow._

_It began as a nightmaur, recurrin' tae a very few. Those whose rebellion had brought down th' Black Queen, Ravenna. It was passed ower as naething mair than th' usual disturbance aef sleep natural after th' sufferings aef such horrur. Yet as th' other dreams faded, thes one remained. Watchful. Dark. Predatory. Waitin' in th' shadows, just out aef their sight. It seemed tae search for somethin' in their dreams, lookin', always lookin'. They could ne'er say when they woke what it was they had dreamed, but it left a feelin' aef dread in their hearts an' their minds._

_Th' Duke._

_William, th' Duke's son._

_Eric, th' Huntsman._

_Th' dwarves: Beith, Muir, Gort, Nion, Duir, Coll, and Quert._

_Snow White._

_Whatever it was lookin' for, it didne find._

_Finally e'en these dreams faded._

_For most._

* * *

"It's aggravating." Snow White said in confidence as she walked with the Dwarfen leader, Beith, through the halls on the way to a council meeting. "He has completely withdrawn from me. He doesn't speak to me as he used to…as if we were friends."

"Friends?" Beith snorted and looked at her askance, his blue eyes bright with the sunshine and the warmth. "I have never known him to speak to another as though they were friends. His words are all bite and bark."

"Exactly. And now they are neither." Snow lifted her skirts to better climb the stone stairs they had reached. "Now he is all politeness and correct speech. Never a 'princess' or 'girl' or 'gie me grief, wa don't ye?' passes his lips."

The dwarf laughed, the deep sound echoing slightly off of the stone walls in the stairwell. "Only you would take comfort in such talk."

"Whatever bite there is, isn't meant." Snow replied, but her mouth pulled into a smile as she could see the humor. "Anyway, it was how we spoke to one another. Now there is a wall between us filled with polite talk and 'your majesty' and 'my queen.'"

"Hmm." Beith grunted, turning solemn with thought. "You do know, that Eric is a man who feels keenly th' separation of class?"

Snow's face pinched, her green eyes narrowing with the sadness she felt upon that particular subject. "I know." she said, and her voice was quiet. "But I don't know what to do about it. I have some ideas, but he won't talk to me, and I am loathe to take any action without knowing his mind." She paused. "You know how he is."

"Aye." Beith nodded.

* * *

The meeting passed well. Not as much was decided as Snow White had hoped, but what was decided on were things of importance, so she was content.

As the council members, the Duke, and William left to perform other duties, Snow White sat back in her throne with a sigh, relaxing before her next round of appointments. It was the time of day, mid-afternoon, when anyone was allowed in who had a difficulty and a problem to present to her Majesty. Snow always did her best to find a solution, though once in a while…to her great consternation…one was not to be found.

Today, before the stream of elders and lords had died, someone else came in. Tall and broad and hulking, with a grave face and short words, she knew him before she could fully see his face. She smiled. Her eyes brightened. Sitting up straight she watched him battle the outward current at the door and force his way in, keeping his head low and his "Pardon me, m' lord"s quiet and mumbled. Standing, Snow White stepped forward and greeted him when he finally reached her.

He knelt down on one knee, and bent his head. "Your majesty."

"Huntsman." She inclined her head, and then looked up, smiling, ready to broach a plan she had been carefully formulating. Pulling in a deep breath, she opened her mouth…

"Your Majesty, I 'ave heard that ye wish tae make me th' Royal Huntsman."

Snow White paused. She could not tell from his neutral tone and his schooled expression if he was pleased…or, for some reason, upset. "Yes." she said. "I do."

Eric nodded. "What would be my duties, if I waur tae accept th' position?"

A heavy sigh rose up within her. It was always like this, since she had become queen. Professional. Impersonal. A queen and a subject. "You shall hunt wherever you wish." she said, allowing his answer. "What you hunt you shall bring to the palace. Whatever is not needed at the palace you may keep or sell as you please. The skins you collect throughout the year are to be brought to the palace come the ninth day of November, to be divided between myself and my attendants. The remaining you may keep or sell, as you wish. You shall have the crown's protection and immunity wherever you go. If ever there is battle you shall accompany them on the march, and with your horn sound the signal for battle." Snow finished the recital of the Duties of the Royal Huntsman, and waited, trying to judge his reaction. There was none; only dark, heavy brows as always and an inscrutable expression.

"Mm." he said at last.

"You would be given quarters here at the palace." She offered, her brows pulled together as she studied him. If only he were not so frustratingly void of reaction! Just one clue…

"I still 'ave my home oan th' edge aef th' moors." he said slowly.

Snow White spoke quickly, trying to extend a kindly gesture so that she wouldn't lose him. "You don't have to decide today." she said. "It's not something I will force on you. The decision is yours."

Eric glanced at her. An eyebrow raised.

"Take all the time you need." Snow said again, and groaned inwardly at how hopeful and pleading she sounded. He could read her better than anyone on her best days.

So much for not revealing just how badly she wanted him to stay.

His face grew contemplative, and at last he nodded. "I will think oan it." he said.

She smiled, exhaling in relief. Then she noticed something, and looked closer, studying the shadows around his eyes and the weariness in the lines upon his face. "Eric," she said, stepping down from the dais. "Are you well?"

Eric frowned. "Aye, your majesty."

"Are you sure?" She stepped closer, and it did not escape her notice that he stood at her approach and waited stiffly, his face once more growing stiff and expressionless. "You look exhausted, Eric."

"Thaur is much work that 'as occupied my time aef late, My Queen." he replied. "But I can assure your Majesty that I'm quite well."

She recognized the dismissal in his answer, and thought wryly that wasn't it she who was supposed to do the dismissing? She dropped her gaze, and stepped back. "I wish we could talk as we once did." she whispered. "I miss my friend, who used to think me such burden and told me as much—and yet never left my side."

Eric bowed his head. "Aye." he murmured at last, and when he looked up there was a fond sadness in his blue eyes. "And whaur 'as that wayward girl gone no', who used tae give me so much grief? She 'as grown intae a queen. She nae longer needs an embittered blooter'd tae keep her company."

There was a breath of silence as Snow felt tears rise up in her eyes, looking upon him with such denial that it almost hurt, and desperately she began to piece together a response in her mind and opened her mouth to utter it. Yet in the space of those few seconds he had taken her silence as her dismissal, and with a small, soft smile that did not reach his eyes, he bowed and left.

* * *

That night he prepared for bed in his simple room, and then Eric sat down upon the edge of his bed and began to pull the covers over. He paused, leaving them in a disheveled heap in his lap, and sighed. At last he looked up. "God in heaven," he prayed. "Please give me th' strength. Let me love her as I aught, an' not as I wish, tae protect her an' watch over her."

He received no answer, but as always when he prayed a sense of calm entered his heart…a reassurance that all would be well. Somehow, all would be well.

Laying down he pulled the covers up and drew them under his chin, sighing as the chill of the night air disappeared and the warmth of the bedding began to soak into his limbs. His eyes grew heavy, and then they closed. His breathing grew slow and even.

It was silent.

For almost an hour there was naught to disturb the night air. Then his brows pulled together in a frown, and his head turned slightly on the pillow. He settled, and seemed to once more be at peace. A few moments later he frowned again, and shifted, and grew tense. At one point his hand opened and then clutched the blankets, so hard that they shook, the knuckles growing white. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his face strained, horribly and painfully. A gasp escaped his lips, and then a low, quiet moan. The moment ended, and his sleep calmed for a while more, before he grew disturbed once again.

Yet he never woke.

* * *

The next day dawned, and with it arrived a disheveled and distracted member to the dining hall. The dwarves saw him coming as they stood in line and dished up their food, and while they all noticed the pallor of his face and the darkness in his eyes, it was Beith who spoke. "A good morning to you, Huntsman."

"Mm." Was the grunted reply. Eric did not look at them, his mouth pressed closed as he nabbed a hard bread bowl and looked over the morning's offerings.

"Long night?"

"No." Eric said, dishing up some some porridge and cheese. "I retired early."

"Did you now?" Beith mused. "Then you must have had some work to tend to early this morning?"

The huntsman gave him a questioning and incredulous look. "No." he scoffed.

"Hmm." Beith hummed quietly, nodding, his blue eyes thoughtful.

"Why th' questions, Beith?" Eric asked, pouring a cup of watered ale. His voice rose above its tired mumble, exasperation and resignation in his tone. "What's oan your mind?"

"Not much." Beith said. "Except that you look mighty down an' grey for a man who's had a full night's rest."

Eric sighed, and turned his eyes on the dwarf, holding his bowl and cup. "I'm fine."

Beith watched him walk away, and his eyes narrowed. "No you're not." he muttered. He followed, sitting down at the same table as the huntsman, who fell to his food with lack-luster passion, like a man who eats because he's hungry but does not taste his food. "I've known you a good many years, Huntsman." Beith said, beginning on his own nourishment. "One could never say you've ever been 'cheerful', but there's a shadow on you this morning."

Pausing in his consumption, Eric closed his eyes and sighed. "You're nae gonnae let this go."

Beith set his elbows on the table, adjusted his seat, and stilled, waiting.

Eric studied his porridge. "I've been dreamin'." he said, his voice low to avoid any chance of being overheard. "Every nicht for three days."

Beith nodded, tipping his head. He pursed his lips. "Well, most have had dreams. 'Tis not uncommon."

Eric dropped his spoon down and looked at Beith. "I know." he said. "You think I doan' know anythin' about bad dreams?"

"I know you were in the wars." Beith agreed calmly. "An' I know about your wife."

He ignored the mention of Sara. "These are…different." he mumbled. "I doan' know…"

The dwarf looked at the huntsman, and his brows drew down. He knew the man; Eric was as tough as the Black Forest itself, and full of spit and fire and bite. He would grow grave, he would grow irritable, and he would grow dark and bad-tempered, but he rarely grew afraid. Certainly not over a bad dream. Yet the signs before the dwarf now were of worry; uncertainty; a troubled mind.

"What is it you dream of?" Beith asked, lowering his voice.

Eric's lips drew back in a silent baring of teeth, and then then he shook his head and took a long drink of his ale, grimacing at the weakness of it.

"Eric." the dwarf used his name. "What do you dream of?"

Reluctantly, the huntsman looked at Beith. "Her." he said.

Beith frowned. "Her majesty?"

"No." Eric growled irritably. His gaze intensified. "Th' witch. Ravenna."

There was a pausing; the dwarf sat up straight, staring, his expression carefully neutral. "Her cruelty was terrible." he murmured. "No small wonder you dream of her."

"I doan' dream aef what she did." Eric bit out. And then it seemed to tumble from him. "They are… I doan' know what they are… I cannae remember them when I wake. But I doan' sleep as I should, an' I ache, as though I 'ave just been in battle an' suffered grievously. I can feel her eyes oan me, an' search my room—as though someone micht be hidin' there."

The elder dwarf gazed at him, listening closely. "Those be dark dreams." he agreed, his eyes unblinking as they watched the man's agitation. "Let us hope…they fade soon."

Eric snorted, and resumed his eating.

Beith's eyebrows furrowed.

* * *

For the next few days the dwarf kept an eye on the tall man, who had since accepted the job of Royal Huntsman and moved into quarters more befitting of his new position. The room was more spacious, with a tapestry on the wall and a rug on the floor, and a small hearth. It was in the same hall as the dwarves' quarters, which was an agreeable situation for everyone.

Beith was especially glad, for it afforded him the chance to keep an eye on Eric. As the days passed his concern grew, for the huntsman grew more grim in the face and, for those who knew what to look for, more weary. A shadow was upon him. A darkness that brooded, and it filled the dwarf's heart with warning.

But of what, he wasn't yet sure.

* * *

Snow White pulled on her leather gloves, walking briskly down the halls, the skirts of her riding habit swishing in a heavy, delightful way around her legs. A ride was just what she needed today; it had been a long week, and she found herself tiring easily, bogged down with the endless decisions to be made with all that needed fixing after Ravenna's rule, and trying to learn all that she had missed learning during her years in the tower. The ways of court; how to move, how to act, what to say. Decorum. Politics. She knew she would never be the polished, perfect Queen, in word and manner, that most courts had. There would always be just a hint of roughness to her, a bluntness that would come out and catch people off guard, but she accepted that and did not fret. No one else seemed to mind.

A great shape moved towards her, filling the hall with his strides. Snow White paused and looked at him. Clean now, with the dirt and wear washed from his skin, his hair no longer in a tangled mess but smoothly pulled back with leather ties, he looked so very different. Eric, always, but she thought he now reflected in his appearance the beauty of his heart.

Then her rose-colored musings were brought to an end, and she saw the grey shadows upon his face, and the lines around his eyes, and the grim set to his mouth. His heavy-booted stride seemed to carry a great weight with it, and when his fair blue eyes rose and met hers, they were subdued and somber.

Yet upon seeing her a small spark of light entered their depths, and she thought she saw the promise of a smile touch one corner of his mouth.

"Majesty." he greeted, stopping before her and bowing.

She tipped her head. "Huntsman." Then she looked up at him again, feeling as though there was more she wanted to say, but she wasn't sure anymore what that might be.

His brows drew together, and he looked her up and down appraisingly. "Yu'r strangely dress'd for a council meetin'."

A laugh escaped her, and she touched the folds of the leather riding coat. "No. I rescheduled." She said. "I needed a break from it all, so I cleared the day."

Eric nodded. "Yu'r goin' ridin', then?"

"Yes." Snow White swallowed, wondering, and then she went with her impulse and asked: "Would you like to come?"

He shifted, thumbs hooking his belt, surprised at her query. His mouth pursed to answer, but nothing came out.

"I need an escort anyway." She hastened to add, hoping to draw him into saying yes. "Apparently the elders and lords hate it when I go riding alone."

"Well, yu'r queen no'. I can understand that."

"So you'll come?"

He looked into her hopeful green eyes, and nodded. "Aye. As you wish," he murmured. "My queen."

Her face broke into a smile.

With her hand on his proffered arm, they walked through the halls and out to the courtyard, and thence to the stables. Her horse was being readied, and a stablehand quickly went to prepare a horse for the Huntsman as well. They rode out from the main gate, past the curious eyes of the people. Her cloak flowed out behind her, and upon Eric's back his choicest of axes and knives were strapped. Just in case.

They rode far and they rode wide, burning their energy in wild galloping that set their hearts to pounding and their breath to panting. It felt good to be so mad; Snow White turned her face into the sun and reveled in its warmth, so contrasting to the cool, misty air that surrounded them. To be out, to be free, with nothing surrounding her or hindering her, was a glorious state of being that she never tired of. Her horse pranced beneath her, huffing and tossing his head, and she opened her eyes and turned to look at her companion. He watched her, a quiet fondness in his gaze and a touch of amusement on his lips. She laughed, and threw him a challenge, spurring her horse on in a mad race.

When the sun was midway in its downward arc they paused for rest beside a clear stream. The horses grazed upon the new green grass, and Snow White sat in the roots of a gnarled tree that was, for the first time in years, dressed in thick green finery. She ate her bread and cheese, and drank from her canteen of water, and breathed in the fresh air.

Eric hung back a little, watching her, holding his leather-skin (filled with water this time) loosely in his hand. She could feel his eyes on her, and turned to glance at him, her mouth pulled into the small half-smile that was so classically her, that half-smile that seemed to mean either a wonderful secret or mischief.

"Isn't life grand?" she declared, turning and looking out across the golden-lit landscape.

There was a quick burst of laughter, heavy and rolling. She loved his laugh. It made her feel warm, and full, and safe. "I doan' know," he said, walking forward to stand beside her seated form. "I suppose."

Her eyes squinted in the light as she look up at him. Looked up, up, up… "What is that supposed to mean?" she challenged good-naturedly.

"Well…" he cast about for a way to explain. "Parts aef life are grand, I'll gie ye that. A lot isn'."

"Yes. But THIS is." she gestured to all that surrounded them.

His expression grew contemplative, his eyes looking around at the trees and the grass and the stream, the mist lifting from the wet ground and rising up from the scrub and the bushes. The golden light of the afternoon sun cast everything in a rich glow. Even the air seemed to glisten, the moisture sparkling in the light. "Aye." he whispered.

She wrapped her arms around her knees and leaned back against the tree. "You look terrible." she finally said.

That earned her a fiery-blue glare. "I didn't realize my looks waur a' concern tae you." he retorted. "I'm sorry my appearance displeases you, yur majesty."

"That's not what I meant. You know that." she chastised. "And don't call me that." He glanced at her, questioning.

"Your majesty." she shook her head, and her eyes flickered down to her hands where they clasped around her knees. "We're friends. In the palace… I understand. But out here?"

His face was inscrutable. Finally he looked away, a muscle working in his jaw, and he took a drink of water. "Wouldnae be proper."

"Why not? It's just a name." she said. "Snow White. Try it."

He dropped his head, staring hard at the leather-skin he held.

She scoffed incredulously, and shrugged. "Fine. Call me princess then." she said. "You used to call me that all the time."

"Yu'r nae a princess anymore."

"So? It'll make me feel normal." She watched his hard outline, and finally blurted: "Eric!"

He turned sharply at the use of his name.

"Please?" This time she did not mind the pleading note to her voice. "I thought we were friends."

His face could be so hard to read at times! He stared at her, studying, and whatever was going on in his mind was hidden behind those brilliant blue eyes. "Yu'r gonnae drive me mad," he finally muttered. "Princess."

A slow smile spread across her face. "I'll try my best." she teased.

* * *

The day had been surprisingly good; better than many of her previous days. Snow White walked the stairs to the royal wing, removing her gloves with an abstracted expression, her cheeks flushed and a smile touching her face with a fond remembrance of the afternoon.

"You look brilliantly refreshed." William said, appearing on the stairs ahead of her, coming down. His eyes twinkled, clasping his hands behind his back.

"I am." Snow White said, continuing up. "A ride was just what I needed."

"I am glad to hear it." William smiled, tipping his head as he met her on the same stair and then turned, to accompany her up. There was a pause. "The company was also everything to be desired, I hear."

Her step paused a moment, and her breath faltered, though it was hardly noticeable. She looked down, her expression now sombre with thought. "William…" she began quietly.

"Snow," William stopped on the top step and turned to her, catching her elbow gently. There was no anger on his face, no reproach, only wistful, wise understanding. "It's all right. I know you care for me as a friend."

She looked up, apology in her green eyes. "I didn't know how to tell you…"

"Well, I haven't made it easy for you, have I?" His smile was quick and boyish, the same smile she remembered from her childhood. Then it was gone, and his blue eyes grew subdued. "I had hoped. Perhaps, if all these years had been different…but they were not, and this is where we are."

Her mouth pressed together, her brows tight. She had known he loved her, and had tried—desperately—to love him back, but for all that he still remained as a friend and a brother to her. "I'm sorry." she whispered. "Will you be all right?"

"No. I shall never love another; I shall live alone, to serve you only."

Snow White gaped, horrified.

William threw back his head and laughed, the wonderful, rich, playful sound relieving and filling her with new warmth and gladness. "I expect I shall be." he said when his mirth had subsided. His blue eyes twinkled brightly at her. "Perhaps, if you had led me on, and coaxed the small seed in my heart into full bloom, it would be a different story. But you didn't, and it didn't, so I shall save it. Perhaps I shall find a maiden at the victory celebrations in a week."

Her heart suddenly felt so light within her she could hardly believe it; she hadn't realized how much her fear of wounding him had weighed it down. She smiled and laughed. "I hope so." she said, holding his hand. Her glance was fond. "I love you."

William's shoulders rolled in pleasure. "I know." Then once again his face grew subdued, though this time with thought. "He is a good man for you."

Snow White's eyes flickered to the floor, her brow pulled with frustration and unhappiness. "Yes, he is." she agreed. "But there are rules to a Queen's marriage which I MUST abide by. I understand why," she quickly added. "But still…it breaks my heart."

He nodded seriously. "I know." he whispered. And then he took her hand and set it within the bend of his arm, holding it there so that she was drawn in close as he began to lead them down the hall, leaning close to speak in her ear. "And I have an idea about that…"

* * *

At dinner Eric joined his dwarfen friends at their table and was welcomed into their conversation. He entered into it readily, speaking and laughing with ease. Knowing looks were shared among the dwarves, but they kept their comments to themselves.

It was later than had been usual of late, but Eric, despite his weariness, felt well. Tonight's sleep he was sure would be deep and undisturbed, deserved and well earned. He entered his room and closed the door, dressed for bed, and slipped beneath the covers. The mattress felt especially good, the blankets warm and comfortable, and without any embarrassment he burrowed in deep, as he had when he was a boy, and closed his eyes.

It was late when he began to dream. It was a pleasant dream; he was walking carefully across the moor, fresh rabbits slung over his shoulder, breathing deep the fresh air which was damp and filled with the scents of the wild, and then there before him was his home. Carefully built, well-kept, a serene line of smoke rising and drifting from the chimney. As he strode quickly towards the small hut the door opened, and a thin figure came briskly out, carrying a water bucket. Her mouse-blond hair was pulled untidily back, and her apron was already well-stained from a hard day's work. As she made her way towards their well she saw him, and she smiled and lifted her hand. Eric's heart swelled with pride and warmth as he looked upon his wife's beaming face, and he broke into a jog, scooping her into his arms…

_"Eric…"_

It went dark. He spun; where was the voice?

_"Huntsman."_

Rich and honey golden to his ears. But it couldn't be.

A swirl of blackness, like raven's wings spinning him into oblivion, and then he was gone for an eternity…

He woke with a scream this time. His heart hammered painfully in his chest, his breaths harsh and freezing, a cold sweat chilling him to the bone despite the horrific burning that lingered from just a moment before. He threw off his blankets, their tangled folds feeling too much like the restraints that had held him. Stumbling to his feet Eric looked madly around his room, searching the shadowed corners, his eyes seeing movement just beyond the edge of sight. 'It cannot be,' his mind tried to tell him, but every instinct told him otherwise and continued to search for her.

A heavy pounding on the door jolted him into movement, jumping back and pulling away from the door as it opened, raising a metal candlestick with a fury that did not bode well for his intruders.

"Huntsman?" Beith burst in, staring at Eric even as he quickly looked around the room, holding his sword high and ready to strike. Seeing there was no enemy he relaxed, but only a fraction, for his wise blue eyes saw the Huntsman's state and knew that something was very, very wrong. His voice was deep and gritty when he spoke: "What has happened?"

Eric stared, and realized he was shaking—and that he still held the candlestick high, paused in its movement to strike. Beith's question struck him as odd, but only because he could think of no answer. Not yet. The words were too jumbled in his still-wild mind, his breath too quick.

His silence darkened the dwarf's face to a dangerous level. "Eric," he barked sharply, "What happened?"

The air cleared enough for him to breathe, and the light pouring in from the hall chased away the dark shadows that had seemed to move and surround him. Eric felt suddenly very weak, and he dropped his arm as he leaned back against the wall and slid down to the floor, no longer trusting his legs. The clattering of the candlestick was loud in the silence, and then thick dwarfen hands were on his shoulders, forcing him to look up.

"Eric," Beith asked, quietly this time. "What…"

"She was haur." Eric rasped, pushing his damp hair from his eyes. "It was her, th' witch…"

"She is dead."

"You think I doan' know that, Beith?!" Eric shouted, his vision clouding for a moment. He pressed his hands to his eyes, and felt the weight of the dwarf's hands.

"Eric…"

"I doan' know…" he groaned. "I doan' know…"

"Eric," Beith's voice was low. "You're bleeding."

* * *

Snow White woke with a startle; it was still dark, too early to be waking, though she could hear the beginnings of the morning birds outside of her window. Then she heard the insistent rap on her door, again, and she sat up. "A moment." she called as she slid from bed and hastily pulled on a robe. "Come in." she said, tying the sash.

A wide-eyed servant, breathless from running, opened the door and stepped in. "Forgive me for disturbing you, your majesty…" he stammered. "But the royal physician and Beith, the dwarf, require your presence immediately in the healing room."

Her breath caught; what had happened? "Thank you." she said, and nodded, and followed.

The short trip down to the physician's healing room seemed to take forever, and her mind rushed through possible things that could have happened. Beith was there. Had he or one of the dwarves taken seriously ill? Was Muir dying? She lifted her robe enough to walk faster, forcing the servant to hurry to keep up.

Beith was standing within the partially open door, obviously waiting for her, watching what was happening within the lit room. He turned at her approach, and immediately straightened and bowed. "Your majesty."

"What has happened Beith?" she asked, even as he opened the door and led her inside.

Eric was sitting upon the raised table, obscured from sight by Gaius, who was speaking quietly back and forth with him. The huntsman silenced when he saw her, and noticing the change the elderly physician turned and looked at her. His grey eyes, old and wise and kindly, were now grave. He turned fully towards her, and bowed his head, his grey hair untidy from sleep. "Your majesty."

"Gaius." she clasped his hand, and he returned the gesture with a small smile. While he respected her as his queen, he also treated her as though she were his own daughter, which pleased her to no end.

"Majesty." he said. "Something has happened of grave concern to us all."

"What is it?" she asked, feeling her throat tighten in fear of what he would say.

Instead he glanced at Beith, who in turn directed his words to the huntsman. "Shall you tell her, or shall I?"

Snow White turned and looked at Eric, waiting. He was drawn, pale, with great dark shadows around and within his eyes. He looked back at her without flinching, and gave a breath that was almost a sigh. Resigning himself, she thought. "I've been dreamin'." he said, his voice low and hoarse. "Every nicht, about Ravenna."

In hushed tones he explained what had been happening for the past two weeks. The young queen's eyes grew wide with shock and fear.

"But…" Snow White looked from face to face. "She is dead! I killed her."

"She is dead." Muir's voice came from a corner, where she had not seen him. The aged, blind dwarf sat on a stool, his face abnormally somber. "But still, she is here."

Gaius looked weary, and concerned. "There is something you should see, Majesty." He said, and turned to the huntsman. A glance was shared between them, and Eric averted his eyes, looking down. Gently Gaius lifted the bottom of his shirt, till the entirety of Eric's torso was revealed. Snow White stared in horror. He was scratched, from chest to hip; groups of four parallel lines. "They are only skin deep." Gaius said. "They will heal quickly."

She hardly thought that was the concern for the moment, though she was glad to hear it. The fact that there was physical harm at all…Snow White shook her head as she wrapped her mind around it. "She is…Her spirit is still here?" she said.

"Yes." Muir stated quietly.

"But why is she attacking Eric?" Snow White demanded, emotion making her tone sharper than she intended. "Why not me? I'm the one who killed her!"

"I doan' know." Eric murmured, pulling his shirt back down and settling with bowed shoulders. "But yu'r nae th' only one she's angry at."

Snow White turned to him. "But…" Then she paused, and thought back. "You were supposed to deliver me. Instead you helped me escape."

"And he killed her brother." Beith added.

Eric grimaced.

"Well…what can we do?" She asked, her mind already working through different courses of action. "How can we stop her?"

"First we must discover how she is here." Muir said from his corner. "Something must be holding her here."

"But we emptied the castle of her things." Snow White said. Then she looked at Eric, and the blood staining the front of his shirt, and the haunted look in his eyes. "Never mind." she muttered, determination hardening her green eyes. "We'll go through everything again. No matter how long it takes." Turning around she found the servant who had woken her. "Go to Duke Hammond and his son, William. I want a meeting with them come first light."

The servant nodded and turned, scampering off to do her bidding.

Snow White did not move; she remained standing, staring at the huntsman, her face unreadable. Beith and Gaius shared a look, and nodded to one another. "Come, Muir." Beith said, gently taking the older dwarf by the arm. "Let's go find some breakfast before this meeting."

The two dwarves left, stepping carefully as Muir followed Beith's guiding arm. Gaius paused by the door. "If you need anything," he said quietly. "I shall also be in the kitchens."

The door closed with a soft sound. Finally Eric looked at her, his strong jaw set, his eyes like chips of blue ice against the tan of his face, and she was able to take unhindered stock of him. The shadows of weariness and the lines that marred his face from too many nights of…Her lips parted in a breath. What HAD Ravenna been doing to him? She knew too well what that woman had been capable of, of the many varied things she had done to prisoners to obtain information or to punish them for 'crimes'. Snow White's green eyes squinted, focusing on his face, searching for the details that might give her answers.

Those blue chips of ice narrowed beneath her scrutiny, glaring back as his jaw squared itself. "Quit yur starin', girl. I'm nae a paintin'."

His voice was hoarse, as from a harsh cough or from too much yelling, and she knew that her distress was now written clearly on her face. She stepped quickly to him and softly touched his face, his scruff softly rough against her hand, too full of emotion to notice the faint stiffening of his posture at her familiarity towards him. "Eric," she said, still searching his appearance. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Eric huffed. "Tell you I was havin' nightmares? I'd sound a proper fool."

"You're not a fool, and they're not just nightmares!" She had thought it was finally over. She had thought that the queen would never harm another loved one, ever.

"I didnae know that before, did I?"

Snow White shook her head, squeezing her eyes closed, her hands fisted and shaking on his face and shoulder with the strength of her fear and sudden, roaring fury. She heard him release an uncomfortable breath, shift beneath her touch, but still she could not look up without the danger of losing herself. The tide of emotion was still too much. Large, hard, warm hands firmly yet hesitantly covered her arms. She looked up, knowing her cheeks were flushed and that the remnants of unshed tears were in her eyes. The glare was gone from his eyes, replaced with concern.

"Haur," he whispered.

She opened her mouth to speak and her voice shook, much to her chagrin. "She's hurting you." She clenched her teeth. "I'm so tired of her hurting people…!"

"Hey, hey," he shushed her, and she wondered why it wasn't her reassuring him. "We'll figure this out. You beat her last time, wi' all her powers an' her armies. You can beat a bitter auld ghos'."

Her mouth became a grim line, her green eyes searching. "How bad is it?"

Eric swallowed. He shifted his position on the table, shrugging his shirt. "I've had worse."

She knew he was lying. Her voice was clipped. "Eric."

He sighed and looked at her.

"I need to know. How are you lasting? How much longer?"

He didn't answer at first. He just looked at her, with his unblinking, unreadable blue eyes. Finally he looked down at her hands, which had lowered to his arm, and he covered them with long callused fingers and looked up into her eyes again. "As long as you need." he whispered. "My Queen."

* * *

"This is of great concern." Duke Hammond said darkly, almost under his breath. He stood from his chair and paced Snow White's office, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. "This is of terrible concern."

"And she's only going after the Huntsman?" William asked, his fair face pulled into a frown. The news had disturbed him greatly. "Not any of us? Not you?"

Snow White shook her head.

"Why not?"

"I don't know." she admitted. "Perhaps my defeat of her made her…powerless against me?" she shrugged, unsure of her suggestion.

William nodded, accepting it. "But why not us?" he asked again, and then he sat up in his chair, his expression changing as if a connection had been made. "She fell because of him!"

"Really, William." His father protested, and gestured at Snow White. "I think our Queen…"

"No—if he had not turned against Finn in the Dark Forest Snow White would have been taken back to the castle, and that would have been the end, before anything had even begun." William said, sure he was onto something. "And if he had not killed Finn in the Sanctuary, Ravenna would not have lost her brother…and you," he said, nodding to Snow White. "Most likely would have been captured by Finn."

'_And if not for Eric, I never would've woken up._' Snow White added in her thoughts.

"The two sides of the coin." William finished.

"All right." Duke Hammond conceded with a sigh. He leaned his hands on the edge of the desk. "Now where does that leave us? You say that Muir, the dwarf, believes that something is holding her here. What?"

Snow White crossed her arms before her on the desk, pensive and brooding. "I don't know." she said. "We destroyed everything of hers."

"Are we so sure it is a thing?" William pointed out, looking troubled to be doing so. "Could it not be her own anger and hate that has brought her?"

"I hope not." Snow White said, frowning. "If it is, then she'll only be gone when she gets what she wants. Revenge." She pulled in a deep breath. "In the meantime," she sat up straight. "I want a full search of the castle. Every corner, every shadow, every cupboard and closet. If there is _anything_ that was overlooked, I want it found and destroyed."

* * *

The next few days were filled with anxious tension. Snow White rescheduled as many of her council meetings and other duties as she safely and wisely could, and put her energy into trying to discover a solution. This was more than just an attack on one man; if Ravenna's spirit had found a way to stay, the entire kingdom was threatened. She spent what time she could with Eric, concerned that he was sleeping less and less. Not that she could blame him. He was strong, and possible the most stubborn person she had EVER met, but by the end of the week Gaius came to her with great concern over the huntsman's well-being.

"Is it really that bad?" she asked worriedly.

The aged physician nodded. "In seven days he has slept five, and that sleep, as you well know, is FAR from restful. Last night he refused to sleep at all, and I had to slip a sleeping draught into his tea. I fear he will try the same tonight."

"And it does no good to sleep during the day?"

Gaius shook his head. "It is through sleep itself, no matter the time, that she has him."

Snow White rubbed her face; the helplessness she felt made her clench her jaw. "He looks so…"

"He is unraveling." Gaius agreed, reaching back to feel for a seat on his bench and then sitting with a sigh. "The longer one goes without rest, proper rest, the more damage is done. A sense of insanity pervades; the mind cannot trust itself, and emotion grows strong and uncontrolled."

"Do…does he need to be under guard?" she asked, hating herself for uttering the words and yet instantly concerned for his safety.

"The dwarves are seeing to it." Gaius answered gently. "Two of them are with him at all times, in shifts. They will let no harm come to him."

She nodded, and leaned back in her chair, her elbow on the armrest, her chin held by her fingers, her green eyes narrowed and dark with thought.

"Has anything been found?" He asked hesitantly.

"No." Snow White rubbed her forehead and pushed her hair back behind her ear. "I do not understand. Muir is more and more sure that it is a thing that allows her to stay; he has been all over the castle with the servants, feeling for…for anything. But there is nothing."

"Perhaps it has been taken?" Gaius suggested. "After the battle, during the frenzy of purging the castle, could someone not have taken something?"

"Looting?" Snow White mused, chewing on her bottom lip. "It is possible." She finally agreed, her brows drawn together. She did not like that idea, though it did offer some meagre hope. If someone had looted, how were they to be discovered?

"I would search for those who served in the castle during her reign." Gaius said, resting his arms on his knees. "Those who served Ravenna herself; ask them what she had in her quarters. For it must be something that had been close to her, some private possession, for it to have such power."

As she walked from her morning meeting a short while later she pondered the physician's words. She had already sent out guards to search and question, making clear that she was after information only. No one was to be harmed. She did not wish to bring charges to any who had served Ravenna; she sought their help.

She paused by a railing and looked down at the flurry of activity below. The victory celebrations were tonight. And those lords who had fought beside her, especially those men—those brave soldiers—who had followed her into Ravenna's quarters and fought against her obsidian creatures, were to be rewarded. There were medals for some, land for others, titles for most (complete with the appropriate raise in station and salary). Men who had known nothing but the starving life of a rebellion soldier would have homes of their own, and land to tend and care for. There was too much land right now, floundering and wild, that with good husbandry could become rich and fruitful again.

Duke Hammond would receive a royal medal and gold. William would be given a royal medal, honours, and some land (that adjoined his father's) to call his own, and so would become a Duke in his own right. He had done so much—venturing out on his own with nothing more than a rumor, a hope, and a prayer that she was alive. Bringing her back to his father's hold. Following her into the castle, to do what he could to protect his Queen.

She could not ask for a better counselor, advisor, help-meet, or friend.

For the first time in days the hint of a smile touched her face. He was shrewd, William was, and wise to the workings and intricacies of court. The idea he had suggested in regards to the huntsman was perfect in its simplicity, and her heart warmed with gratitude towards him. A gratitude she knew she could never repay. For, if Eric felt as she prayed he felt, this idea would remove the only hindrance to her heart's greatest desire.

* * *

Eric wiped a hand across his sweating brow, and then ran that same hand down the side of his horse. The horse's skin shivered under his touch, and a quiet, rumbling whicker answered him. "Thaur, boy." Eric said, ruffling the thick, dark mane. He ran the brush over the glistening coat again. "How's that?"

Nion and Duir were with him, sitting on bales of hay. Duir was whittling a small piece of wood, Nion was drinking with a leather flask, and they were talking quietly to each other. From one or two sideways glances, Eric knew they were talking about him. Their tones were too hushed to make out words. Their looks wary and concerned. Eric deliberately ignored them, keeping his back mostly to them, focusing on brushing his horse. A muscle worked in his jaw, but he supposed he couldn't blame them…not after last night. It had been Gort and Quert staying with him, keeping watch over his restless sleep. They had tried waking him, to no avail, and had finally settled on a close and wary vigil. Even then the force of his waking had startled them. He had come up from the bed with the force of a storm, hand automatically reaching for a weapon but finding nothing (everything had been removed several days ago after an unfortunate incident). It had taken his longer than usual to come back to himself, to not see her shadow everywhere. By the time he had the other dwarves had arrived, and Quert was ready by the door to go for Gaius.

The physician had still come to see him, at Beith's insistence. Some warmed liniment for his aching joints, and a cup of lemon balm tea went a long way, but still Gaius had looked at him with a sober eye. Especially when Eric had privately said something about not sleeping until this was over. Gaius had pressed his mouth thin in understanding, but had reminded him of his growing exhaustion and that he would drive himself ill…but Eric's response of silence was absolute in his stubbornness. And the older man did not press.

Eric came back to himself, realizing he had ceased brushing the sleek brown coat for an unknown amount of time. He rolled his shoulders, taking in a deep breath, doing his best to banish the memories of the previous night. That was a trap to a dark, terrible place that he did not want to revisit.

Duir grunted and shifted, setting down the partially carved wood and putting his knife back in his belt. He stood. "Got to go." he mumbled, adjusting his belt.

"Back in a minute?" Nion said, lowering his leather flask.

"Course." Duir glanced hesitantly at Eric, and then he shambled out of the stables.

Eric waited. Nion had not had much sleep of late, disturbed by the idea of Ravenna's ghost wandering the halls, and he had been slowly drinking from the flask all morning. Without the stimulation of conversation Eric did not have to wait long. The moment soft snores began emanating from the slumped dwarf he moved into action. Quickly he saddled his horse, and grabbed the pack and traveling cloak he had secreted into the stables. He secured the cloak over his shoulders and the pack to the saddle, and then he was mounted and riding out.

Within moments, the stable was silent.

* * *

_Chapter 2: Preview: _

_ The men shot forward, and Eric jumped, swinging his arm back and then driving it forward, taking out the first man to reach him. But the others were upon him in the same second, and even as he drew back and kicked and swung and roared his anger they pulled him down. In a few chaotic moments it was over. He gasped for breath, held painfully down against the rough wall of his hut, the splinters digging into his back. They held his arms and legs, hands upon his shoulders. He could not move. His cheek throbbed, and his mouth bled. One eye ached._

"Nae a one gits away with it. Nae e'en ye, Huntsman." Fingall said, sauntering forward in his warm, animal skin cloak that was all soft fur. Furs that Eric himself had sold to a shop in the village. "Ye embarrassed me. Now ye owe me th' debt fur that embarrassment."

Eric spat some blood, and then sighed. He did not have the strength to fight anymore, physically or in his heart, and resigned himself to whatever was in store for him. "An' how will you be collectin'?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Snow White and the Huntsman**

**"The King and Queen of Hearts"  
**

**Chapter Two  
**

* * *

_Previously:_

_"…He rolled his shoulders, taking in a deep breath, doing his best to banish the memories of the previous night. That was a trap to a dark, terrible place that he did not want to revisit._

_Duir grunted and shifted, setting down the partially carved wood and putting his knife back in his belt. He stood. "Got to go." he mumbled, adjusting his belt._

_"Back in a minute?" Nion said, lowering his leather flask._

_"Course." Duir glanced hesitantly at Eric, and then he shambled out of the stables._

_Eric waited. Nion had not had much sleep of late, disturbed by the idea of Ravenna's ghost wandering the halls, and he had been slowly drinking from the flask all morning. Without the stimulation of conversation Eric did not have to wait long. The moment soft snores began emanating from the slumped dwarf he moved into action. Quickly he saddled his horse, and grabbed the pack and traveling cloak he had secreted into the stables. He secured the cloak over his shoulders and the pack to the saddle, and then he was mounted and riding out._

_Within moments, the stable was silent."_

* * *

It was time for the Victory Celebration. The last minute preparations were in full swing, but Snow White abandoned them, searching for the dwarves—for Beith—her stance one of purpose and determination. When at last she found him the dwarf was with William, speaking quietly and watching the guests.

"Where is he?" Snow White asked.

Beith and William looked at her, her sudden appearance startling them out of their relaxed conversation. "Who?" William asked.

"Eric." she said. "Where is he? He still has not arrived."

"Perhaps he is retired to his chamber?" William suggested, looking troubled. "He may at last be sleeping."

"We should see." Beith said.

As they left the Royal Hall and walked the long corridor they were met by Nion and Duir. The former's eyes were shifting, avoiding the direct gaze of anyone, his stance obstinate. Duir was muttering and gesturing irately to himself, sometimes directing a comment to his companion who would respond bitterly.

"Duir, Nion." Beith barked. "Where's the Huntsman?"

"He is gone." Duir announced, stumping over darkly. "We already checked the kitchens and his room. The bed is made. His things are gone."

Snow White stared at the dwarves, trying to understand the full implication of what they had just said. Beside her, Beith was rumbling into a storm.

"How did this happen?" he asked with dangerous quiet.

"I went out to…" Duir paused and glanced at Snow White. "Er…to…"

"Yes, yes. We understand." Beith's eyes narrowed.

"When I came back, this numbskull was snoring away and the huntsman was gone. Horse 'n all."

"I don't understand." William said. "Why would he leave?"

"He's gone mad." Nion muttered. "Why else?"

"Shut up, Nion." Beith snapped. His blue eyes were crackling, and the unfortunate dwarf hunched uncomfortably under their blaze.

Snow White tightened her jaw. "Perhaps to escape from her."

"Whatever the reason, he is unwell." The grizzled dwarf said quietly to her. "He should not be alone."

She nodded. "I need to find him." And she turned to leave.

"Your Majesty, you can't." William said gravely. "Not yet. The Ceremonies…"

Snow White stopped and stared at him. Mostly it was a glare, but with a frustrated exhale of breath she knew he was right; as Queen, she had to stay to award those who were being honored. The feasting could be done without her, but not this. "Very well." she consented with consternation. "But immediately after…"

"You won't go alone." William said, coming after. "I shall come, too."

"No." She shook her head. "You don't need–"

"You don't know what's in his mind. What Ravenna may have planted there." William insisted. "You forget that I consider him a friend. I do this for his sake as much as yours."

Looking into his clear eyes, Snow White saw the concern there, and consented. "As soon as the Ceremonies are over, meet me in the stables with the smallest contingent possible as soon. I don't want to make him feel threatened or forced."

William nodded, and left to prepare.

* * *

Within an hour the small group was riding out, Snow White, William, and five of their most trusted guards. They carried with them little, to make their journey light and fast. She only hoped that they would find him before long, and she prayed that his plan worked…that with-out the castle, Ravenna could not touch him.

* * *

After what seemed an eternity of misery—forcing heavy eyes to remain open, struggling to stay straight in the saddle and not fall—he arrived at his destination. A small hut on the edge of the moors. A sigh of relief fell from him. It had been a long ride, from the previous afternoon to now. He had visited every place and person he owed and payed them with the gold in his purse, giving extra to those whom he had owed the longest—and to those he felt the sorriest for owing. An tavern keeper who had been trying to keep his family fed for years, who had graciously extended credit to him till it was no longer affordable to do so. The old lady who ran an inn, who had given him room and board whenever he stumbled in during awful hours of the night, stinking of sweat and drink. He regretted owing her the most, for her kindness was so often given and so often unappreciated.

His purse was now empty, a fact which bothered him more than he would have liked. It was not that he now had nothing, but it was a shameful testament to his conduct of the last few years. A witness to how many people he had used while he had wallowed in his grief.

Yet now he had set it to right. He had paid his debts, and now owed no man, and could begin again.

Arriving he dismounted, and led his horse to the small stable, built up against the side of the hut. It was dry and still, away from the chill breeze and the damp of the moor. With care he set his horse's tackle upon a pile of wood, and then he brushed and rubbed down the animal's coat, talking quietly all the while while the horse ate and drank contentedly.

When he was sure the horse was set for the evening, Eric stepped out of the stable and closed and latched the door. Then he made his way around to the front of the hut, and slowly opened the door, wincing at the groaning creak of the weathered hinges. The inside of the hut was a disaster, the same mess he had left after one of his drunken rages, neglected and allowed to fall to ruin during his year-long absence. With a sigh he shrugged off his cloak and coat, laying them across a chair, and dropped the provisions he had purchased beside it, and looked around. Seeing what needed to be done and prioritizing.

The heavy sound of undisguised footsteps and men's voices drew his attention outside. Who was here, he wondered, in this lonely place? It was not as if he had built his home where people tended to frequent or travel. Which meant they were there for him. Frowning, Eric stepped outside, searching for his visitors. He regretted doing so when the sharp moor wind bit through his worn blue shirt.

Five men stared back at him. All large. All dark and scarred. All grim. All armed.

And he, weak and slow and unwell.

_Father God, have mercy._

"Well well well. Looks like we're in luck, lads. We woan't hae tae wait fur him efter all."

Eric turned, and looked darkly at the smiling man with the shaved head. "Fingall." he greeted, a note of warning and wariness in that name. "What brings you haur?"

The man, who resembled a skinny rat the way his nose and mouth wrinkled around his over-grown, greased mustache, tilted his head and spread his arms. "A matter…of a certain debt, Huntsman."

"I paid my debt." Eric said, watching and turning warily as the man walked. Fingall was fairly well-to-do in the nearby village, though little was through honest gain. He loaned money to those desperate enough to seek it from him, and then added enough interest to what was owed that often he was paid in belongings and even, for the highest debts, homes, which he then sold at a lofty price. Once in a terrible while, he would gain a slave—much to his enjoyment. Eric despised the man, and detested that he had himself, once, desperate for money of any kind, gone and put himself in the clutches of Fingall's like.

"Did ye?" Fingall put a bony finger to his mouth and thought for a moment. "Oh, aye. I seem tae recall ye stoppin' by my haem today an' leavin' some gauld."

"So we're done. What I owe you…"

"What ye owe me is my choice, Huntsman." Fingall gestured to his men, who all took a step forward. "Ye see, ye did nae pay when ye waur supposed tae, an' ye somehow managed tae evade my men when they came tae collect. Ye are well ower a year due."

Eric took a step back, looking at the men who advanced, his muscles tensing and readying to fight. Yet they trembled, and were weak, and he worried. "I paid my due, wi' interest!"

"Ye made me a laughin' stock in my business. What else did ye expect?" Fingall asked, looking annoyed and put-off.

The men shot forward, and Eric jumped, swinging his arm back and then driving it forward, taking out the first man to reach him. But the others were upon him in the same second, and even as he drew back and kicked and swung and roared his anger they pulled him down. In a few chaotic moments it was over. He gasped for breath, held painfully down against the rough wall of his hut, the splinters digging into his back. They held his arms and legs, hands upon his shoulders. He could not move. His cheek throbbed, and his mouth bled. One eye ached.

"Nae a one gits away with it. Nae e'en ye, Huntsman." Fingall said, sauntering forward in his warm, animal skin cloak that was all soft fur. Furs that Eric himself had sold to a shop in the village. "Ye embarrassed me. Now ye owe me th' debt fur that embarrassment."

Eric spat some blood, and then sighed. He did not have the strength to fight anymore, physically or in his heart, and resigned himself to whatever was in store for him. "An' how will you be collectin'?"

Five minutes later his hands were tied and held above his head, hanging from the eaves of his hut, his feet just able to touch the ground. Fingall paced leisurely behind him, fondly unrolling a short, sharp whip. Eric clenched his teeth and stared straight ahead as his shirt was pulled up and tucked over his shoulders, and his muscles bunched from the sharpness of the chill and the damp.

"Ye dae realize I take nae pleasure in thes." Fingall said, swinging the whip experimentally in the grass. "Though I am quite sure that thes will hurt ye far mair than it will me…"

"Stop your squawkin' an' take your payment, Fingall." Eric snapped, gritting his teeth for what was to come. "Then you an' I are done, an' I shall ne'er see you haur again."

Fingall paused at the harsh interruption and even harsher words, but he tipped his head, then pursed his lips and nodded. "Fair enaw."

The whip drew back.

The crack echoed across the moors.

* * *

The village was small and plain. There was obviously not much money here; but what the villagers had they cared for, and took pride in. The elderly lady at the inn blushed and curtsied, pleased as anything when Snow White entered her home and took interest in her affairs. The young queen was genuinely interested in how she fared, and the innkeeper answered honestly that while things were not as they had been fifteen years ago, they were a lot better than they had been for a long time. "E'en mair so today, Yer Majesty. Fur I've had some who stay oan credit, who hae been goin' through mair difficult times than I, an' t'day some of them hae paid back. Sae th' Lord is blessin' our village all around, thanks tae ye."

Snow White smiled and thanked her for the compliment, though inwardly she was just as embarrassed as ever to receive such praise—though it did please her that she was able to help her people in any way. Then she asked if the local Huntsman had been seen recently?

"Him?" the old lady exclaimed. "Oh, a' course! He's th' one who stopped in t'day, who paid his balance tae me, plus interest."

"He's here?" Snow White said, instantly perking at the news and her eyes widening with renewed eagerness and hope. "Eric?"

"Aye, that's his nam'." The lady nodded.

"Where is he now?"

"He's gone back tae his home, oan th' edge a' th' moors. It's a good ways from th' village, but nae bad. Nae by horse." she said, looking out of her window at the group of seven horse, six of them mounted. One of them, a young lord, was holding the reins of a white horse, waiting patiently. "You'll want tae go West. Ye cannae miss it." She paused, and a troubled look entered her kind, weathered grey eyes. "He's nae in trouble, is he, Majesty? He's a hard man, but he has a good, kin' heart. An' he's suffered these few years."

"I know." Snow White answered, swallowing. "No, he's not in trouble. Or he is…but not from me. I'm trying to help him."

"Oh…" relief lit the wrinkled, pink face, and she smiled. "Well, in th't case, God's speed wi' ye. An' I pray all is reit."

Snow White smiled a little, the corner of her mouth pulling. "Me too. Thank you."

When she returned outside, William looked at her expectantly, his eyes widening at the expression of victory on her face. "Well?" he asked.

Snow White nodded, and smiled. "We've found him." she said.

* * *

The dirt was hard and cold and rough. The grasses rustled and cracked under the footfalls of the retreating men, and then all was still and silent. Eric ached from hitting the ground so hard—from having his hands cut free viciously and without preamble—but to lay and not move was such a blessing, the coldness of the earth easing the fiery burn that covered him.

How long he let himself lay there Eric did not know; he had no place to be, no engagement, so he reveled in the freedom and did not move till a faint darkening of the air around him signaled the begin of sundown. Then with a groan he set his hands beneath him and pushed up, gasping as his torn and welted skin pulled and pained with the movement. At last he was on his feet, though he did not know how, and he stumbled his way inside. He needed water to clean his wounds, but as he looked around the darkened interior of the hut he realized that he had nothing clean to hold the water with, and that if he wished to tend to his wounds he would first have to clean the hut. At least, as much as he needed to.

His breaths came in painful inhales and quick exhales, his jaw tight as he moved. He pulled his shirt the rest of the way off; the fabric caught on the wounds and set a fire to his skin that brought water to his eyes and a moan and a hiss to his lips. Once free of the shirt he laid it with his cloak and coat, and then began setting things right. The hearth was cleaned out and a fire was made. Water was pulled from a well, and the few pots and dishes he still owned were scrubbed and washed to get the grime of dark, abandoned months from them. The largest pot he then filled with new water and set it over the fire. The shelves were washed down, and the dishes replaced, and the table was righted and also washed. He kicked the mattress from his bed and tore free the bedding, tossing them to one side against the wall, to be dealt with later. The mattress of old straw was thrown away outside, and new hay was taken from the stable and laid across the bed frame, and his bedroll was opened upon it. Then he swept clean the floor, letting his anger and the late-in-coming adrenaline fuel his actions. He could not look at his reflection in the small, polished mirror in the bedroom when he passed it.

He was humiliated.

Eric did not think much of himself. His words to Snow White, when she had lain cold and pale upon her funeral bed, were true. He wasn't worth saving, for sure; he was too used up, drowned in too much ale, broken into too many pieces. Yet he still had his pride—such as it was—the pride of a man, and that had been flailed within an inch of its life today. The burn on his back and shoulders and arms and ribs was rivaled by the burn in his heart, and he swallowed the sudden taste of sickly bile.

How could he ever face his Queen now?

She could never know; of that he was certain. If she knew that he had been strung up and whipped…

…and he had let them…

A harsh hiss and spatter broke the silence of his brooding thoughts, and he turned, and saw that the water boiled. Stiffly he set aside the broom, and walked to the hearth, and pulled the pot free of the fire with an iron hook. He had some things in his pack. Not much, but a few clean cloths, and a small jar of salve left over from his chest wound. That at last had healed, no thanks to the following struggles and then the battle he had ended up in, all for the sake of her.

It would have to do.

The sound of horses caught his attention. Now what? Eric frowned, going to the door and looking out.

No…

_Father in Heaven, why?_

_Now?_

Eric turned, his heart pounding almost painfully in his sore chest, and he looked around the hut for a moment in a panic. They could not know; that was the only coherent thought in his mind. To that end he tossed aside his shirt, which had blood on it and several tears where the whip had caught it, and then he threw open his pack and rummaged through it for his spare. He found it, and in his hurry pulled it on too roughly and cried out through clenched teeth. Every mark made itself known, unappreciative of the rough fabric that now rubbed on his raw skin. Eric grimaced, and held very still, trying to let the throbbing die down.

Hopefully he would not have to deal with it for long.

Horses snorted and neighed as their heavy, thundering footfalls came to a stop outside of his hut. Eric opened the door, keeping his stance straight and stiff and his expression neutral as he looked upon the faces of five guards, William, and her.

Snow White.

She pulled her horse up and called his name, her eyes shining so brightly they hurt him with their glow, her relief at having found him like a physical blow. To his surprise William also seemed pleased and relieved to see him, some pinched lines around his young eyes lessening now that he was before the huntsman's door.

"Your Majesty. My Lord." Eric greeted them, leaning very, very carefully against the doorframe. "Tae what do I owe th' pleasure?"

"Huntsman." William exclaimed, his horse prancing beneath him. "You are a difficult man to track."

The corner of his mouth lifted in a wry smile. "It is part aef my job."

The young duke grinned.

Snow White dismounted. "Huntsman!" She handed a guard her reins, and then walked with hurried steps forward. At last she was before him, and she paused, staring up at his face. "You left."

Those simple words said more than an entire lecture. "Aye." Eric confirmed.

"Why?"

"I thought it was time tae be home." Eric pointedly looked away, turning his gaze instead to survey the group before him. Seven more mouths to feed. He desperately wanted to be alone; needed to be alone, but he could not turn away guests. Especially not her and him. Still… "I would've thought my leavin' was as good a sign as any that I want tae be alone."

Snow White's mouth tightened, and her green, sharp eyes studied him intensely. Eric felt uncomfortable. "We've come a long way." she finally said. "Can you at least invite us in for a rest?"

Common courtesy and hospitality. He could not deny them that, even as the pain returned with a dull throbbing ache, reminding him of what he now would need to put off until much, much later. His heart fell. He just did not have the strength today. "Aef course…yu'r welcome tae shaur my supper. Such as it is." he mumbled, and turned and went inside.

He should have taken their horses. At least her and William's horses. He should have invited them in with more proper language. He just did not have the ability to care, or the capacity to realize until after the fact what it was he should have done. Weariness plagued his limbs, and pain made him irritable. Still he took the boiling water, with great reluctance, and added to it some dried barley and some onion and herbs. He wished he had some meat, any meat—he was a huntsman, after all—but there was none to be had. Not today.

The door opened behind him, and he heard the soft footsteps of his Queen. His shoulders hunched, and he did not turn.

"Can I help?"

He grunted a dismissal, but when he started to move, to rise from his crouched position, his muscles ached and shook in protest.

He prayed for sleep tonight.

"Dishes are oan th' shelf." he said, staying where he was.

She went to it, and took down the few dishes there were, and began to lay the table. Watching her move about his hut, setting out plates and knives, pulling out bread from her own pack and setting it in the center of the table and cutting it, made his heart ache. Eric had forgotten just how badly he missed the soft company of a companion. The gentle presence, working side by side with him. A partner, to care for and be cared by. Soothing him by just being there. He had been so alone for so long…

"It smells good."

Eric snorted. "It's nothin' special. If I'd known I was goin' tae 'ave guests…"

She knelt beside him, startling him with her nearness. She didn't say anything for a moment, staring at him with those piercing green eyes of hers. "Why did you leave?" she finally asked.

He sighed, stirring the coals and adding another small piece of wood. He would have to get some peat to burn, if he wanted to keep a fire all night to ward the cold away. "I thought…it micht be th' castle." he mumbled, and poked at the fire. "If I could jist get away…whaur she could nae reach…"

Snow White pressed her lips together. "I'm surprised you didn't go to the Dark Forest." she quipped. "I mean, she had no powers there."

Eric finally looked at her, and saw her fair face turned upon him with a mixture of amusement and worry and…something else. Then the ridiculousness of her words hit him, hit him far harder than they should have, but his exhaustion amplified his reaction and he began to laugh, hearty and heavily. Go to the Dark Forest for a good night's rest…

His amusement and muttered words lifted her spirits. It was not often that she could roust a smile from him, especially a genuine one, and even rarer to get him to laugh. A part of her worry melted, and she smiled.

He shook his head, lifted a spoon and stirred the bubbling contents of the pot. "I doan' 'ave much room," he said, returning to his low rumbling tone. "But th' floor is clean, an' thaur is a bed for you, newly made…"

"I don't want to put you out."

The sideways look he gave her was disdainful. "What kind aef man would turn his guest away, or put his Queen oan th' floor an' take th' bed for himself?"

She didn't answer, and sat back on the floor to watch while he bent over the pot, muttering darkly to himself about fools and cads. She took no offense, and was in fact warmed; she listened to the low, gritty tones of his voice and let them sooth her. And she watched him. He was exhausted, that much was plain. His skin was pale beneath its weathered tan, and lined with weariness, his eyes half-lidded and dull. There was also a tightness to their corners, and a stiff way he held himself, but from the way his hands faintly trembled she listed it as more symptoms of his poor sleep.

"We were worried." she said quietly.

He did not turn to her, but she could tell he was listening from the faint turning of his head.

"No one knew you had gone." she looked down at her hands in her lap, and then looked again at him. "We searched for you. There were awards to those who had aided in the battle. We waited for you before the Ceremonies, but you never arrived, and then we discovered you had gone. No one knew why. Nion blames himself."

His face dropped. His voice was a mumble. "I'm sorry."

"Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"I know."

"Do you know how scared we were…I was?" She leaned forward, wanting him to understand. "I thought…with your dreams, and Ravenna…I thought something had happened."

Eric blew out a slow, defeated breath, and looked at her. Apologetic. "I'm sorry." he said. "Th' nicht before, th' dreams…they waur so bad. I couldnae do it anymore. Leaving was th' only thing I could think aef."

"I understand." She really, truly did. "But you should have told us. You should have told me."

"I thought I would be stopped."

Now it was her turn to take offense. "Why? What kind of Queen would stop you from doing something that could help?"

He looked shamed, and his blue eyes gazed at her pleadingly. "I'm sorry."

Snow White opened her mouth to say something, then closed it and sighed, staring into his face. She had begun to grow angry, her hurt and worry for him coming out, but how could she stay angry with him when he was in such a state? Too tired to be truly rational or logical, and desperate enough to rush into any action that offered hope. She knew what exhaustion could do to a person. So instead she reached out, and gently brushed a loose, tangled lock of hair out of his face. "I forgive you. This time." she said, and gave him one of her gentle, sideways smiles.

He relaxed, but the misery stayed, and he returned his attention to the thickening stew.

The door opened, a gust of chill, damp wind blew in for a moment, and then the door closed. William and one of the guards stood behind them, and they rubbed their arms and hands in the warmth of the hut. "It smells good." William said appreciatively, eyeing the steaming pot. Then he indicated the guard. "Lieutenant Gérard will finish making the meal."

Eric didn't comment, but stood, slowly, stiffly, till he had reached his full, broad height—seeming to fill the hut with his size—and he turned to them. "I'll get water for washin'." he said, and carefully slipped between them and went out, closing the door.

* * *

Supper was good, simple though it was. William and the guards talked and chatted and laughed, drawing Eric into their midst easily and without a second thought, and the guards addressed him as "M'lord". His friendship with the Queen and with the young Duke made it easy to forget that he was not actually of noble status—or hadn't been, till recently—a fact which pleased Snow White immensely. For it was further proof that the man was truly noble at heart, good, solid, strong, and worthy. A good leader, whose men would follow and love him. She smiled, watching him converse with William as an equal, telling the younger man stories of the Wars. It was the first time he had ever spoken of those times. Leaning upon the table, Snow White listened closely, and slowly began to see him as something other than her Huntsman. He had been a soldier, a good one, and had even led his own small contingent. There were things he had seen and things he had done that amazed her. She had seen him in the battle against Ravenna, but she had been so focused on her goal—killing the Dark Queen—that she had not been able to spare the attention to how well he carried himself. Though it had not escaped her that it had been he, with William, who led the small force into the castle to protect her.

The light outside grew red and golden, and then it faded to a deep purple. As the purple faded to black William and the guards stood to go outside. Eric rose quickly, grimacing and quickly setting a hand to the table as he did so. "Th' stables are cold," he said. "In haur is warm, an' thaur is room enough."

"Thank you," William said gratefully. "But I truly think it would be best if we did not intrude too much upon your hospitality."

As much as he craved the privacy, wished for it with all of his heart, to tend to his wounds and rest in solitary quiet, Eric could not in good faith allow guests of his to sleep in the cold. To sleep with the animals. While he slept in close to the hearth, warm and comfortable.

Sleeping. Finally.

He shook himself. "Yu'r my guests." he insisted in his low tones. "An' haur is a warm fire, an' a soft floor." Nodding at them, he then turned to Snow White. "I will make th' fire in th' bedroom." And he left the hut once more, to gather enough peat for two fires, to keep them burning warm and well throughout the night and into the next day.

William turned to Snow White, who was watching the huntsman go with a worried expression on her face, and he shook his head. "He is stubborn, isn't he?"

She glanced at her friend, and the corner of her mouth lifted. Then it fell, and she returned to her worried thoughts.

* * *

When Eric returned the table had been moved to one side, and the bedrolls were stacked in a neat and waiting pile against the wall. Snow White had removed his bedroll from the bed, and laid hers out, and rolled his up carefully and set it with the others in the main room. When he saw it he balked and protested. But she was firm. "You shouldn't sleep out in the cold either." she said.

Yet all he wanted was to be alone! He hurt all over, and his body ached with weariness, and he just wanted to nurse his wounds and sleep in peace. His face darkened. "I will sleep in th' stable."

"Eric." she said softly, and he stopped. Stepping closer, she gently touched his forearm. "Don't be noble."

There was nothing noble in it.

"It'll be too crowded. Thes will be better."

"What'll be better? You freezing?" She retorted, and then she reigned in her frustration, and quieted her voice. "Please, Eric. Don't do us the disservice of sacrificing your health for our comfort."

He blinked, eyes widening, but he did not question or comment on her words. He simply bent down to make the fire. As he lifted peat into the small hearth he winced and grimaced, pausing in the motion, and then he continued more carefully.

* * *

Snow White took her bag and stepped out quietly, to ready for bed. She bit her bottom lip, undecided if she appreciated his silence. Was he allowing that she was right? Or did he not agree, but did not know how to tell her, and was therefore letting it go?

The men's bedrolls were laid out on the floor, and the men themselves sat about the room, some against the wall, some at the set-aside table, talking quietly. They quickly rose when she passed, tipping their heads and bowing. Snow White smiled at them, ducking her head as she went out of the door.

When she returned some ten minutes later they rose and bowed to her the same, and William took her hand and smiled. "Goodnight, You Majesty." he said. Then he leaned closer, his voice a concerned whisper. "If aid is needed during the night…"

"We are all here." She said in an answering whisper. "Pray all will be well."

William nodded. "I will."

She smiled thankfully. "Goodnight, William."

"Goodnight."

She entered the small bedroom, and closed the door behind her, and turned. Alone she studied the room; there was a bed, and some hooks on the wall, and a small table just big enough for a pitcher of water and a bowl, and there was a small, polished metal mirror. Stepping to it Snow White touched it. It was not big; barely large enough to see her full face, and she wondered how long he had saved to purchase it for his wife. A pang of sadness pinched her heart, and Snow White frowned.

Leaving the mirror she deposited her bag beside the bed, and quickly removed her coat and outer cloak. The room was warm enough for her to take off her outer dress, as well, but she paused, wondering if it were seeming. Then she decided that she would leave her plain shifts on over her chemise, and that would be all right.

When she had done so, hanging up her coat and overdress on some hooks, there was a soft knock at the door. "Come in." she said.

Eric hesitantly opened the door, and entered, looking uncomfortable and quiet. He paused by the door, holding a bucket of water, his feet shuffling slightly. He opened his mouth to ask a question, then stopped, unsure how to ask it. "Are you retirin' now, my queen?" he finally asked in a low voice.

Snow White nodded. "Yes." she said, stepping to the bed and sitting down. He still did not move. Only when she inclined her head did he dare take a step in towards the small table. He poured the water into the small clay pitcher, and then he stepped back again towards the door.

She lay down, and pulled the blanket up close, tucking it under her chin.

"Sleep, Huntsman." Snow White whispered, her hands tucked beneath her cheek as she watched him.

He did not answer.

"Eric."

He blinked, and looked at her. His expression was wary.

"I'm here."

She wasn't sure why she said that, as if it would give him the assurance he needed to be able to rest, but to her surprise and pleasure his face did relax a fraction. "I will, queen." he whispered back. "Soon." He looked around the room. "This is th' first I've been back in…a long time."

She understood, and nodded. "Goodnight, Eric."

His blue eyes were bright as they looked at her. His voice soft. "Goodnicht, my queen."

Snow White closed her eyes, and settled against the soft hay that made the bed, crackling faintly under the bedding. Her breathing slowed, her body relaxed, and her thoughts quieted, but her ears listened. They waited to hear the rustling of a blanket in the other room, to indicate his laying down. They waited to hear his breaths grow long and slow and deep and even. Instead there was silence.

* * *

After a good ten minutes he decided it was safe enough; and he could wait no longer. Sleep pulled too consistently, and he had to do something about his lashes—at least the ones he could reach. He hadn't lied earlier when he said it was the first time he had been in his home in a long while; but it was not why he did not lay down. Such a motion he preferred to do only once; it would not be easy, and he did not relish it.

He had set against the stable wall, beside the stack of hay, a bucket of water. Enough to clean himself at least a little. He had hoped to use hot water, but cold would have to do now.

At least he had the salve, and the few cloths in his bag.

The air was cool, but the warmth from eight horses kept most of the cold at bay, and the golden light from the lamp cast a warm glow over everything. Eric shifted, sitting on his bedroll, and turned to reach for his bag. The stiffened and dried stripes pulled and cracked, and he stopped the motion with a sharp hiss, grimacing and freezing, waiting for the throbbing to die down a bit before he tried again.

"Perhaps you should have the bed."

He started sharply, her voice, so quiet, breaking the silence abruptly. His furrowed brow was dark as he threw a frown her direction. "You should be asleep." he growled.

"So should you." she retorted, opening the stable door the rest of the way and stepping in, her dark hair falling about her face.

"I'll sleep when I wish."

"Better to sleep when you need." She closed the door behind her, and looked at him. "You are exhausted. Do you not see yourself? You will drive yourself ill."

"Perhaps I micht sleep better if my home waur nae invaded th' first nicht I'm in it." he spat.

She drooped faintly, some of the fight leaving her as she seemed to accept the truth of that statement. "I am sorry." she whispered. "That was not our intention."

He snorted, but it was at himself. She had never done anything to harm him; why did he lash out at her like that? She couldn't know why his temper had grown irritable and raw.

"We did offer to sleep elsewhere."

"No; you expected me tae turn guests away. Royalty an' nobility, no less. What kind aef offer is that?"

"You should still sleep." Snow White said. "Inside."

He shook his head. Instantly regretting it as one of the lashes, which had hit his neck, pulled. "You should go back tae your room." he muttered. "This is'nae right." He pushed himself to his feet, grunting with the effort.

Snow White stared at him in frustration. "What isn't right?" she exclaimed in a hushed voice. "I'm worried about you."

"It's nae proper, you comin' haur alone."

"Will you stop with the proper!" She was growing angry. "You should be resting where you are warm and dry, not make yourself worse by sitting in the cold and wet. Now stop behaving like a child and come inside!"

That was the last straw. Suddenly he was in her space, his chest almost touching her, his dark and stormy face looming over hers. "Doan' tell me what tae do." he rumbled.

If she knew what was good for her, she would leave it be.

She swallowed, but didn't back down. "I'll make it an order if I must."

He snarled. "Do you cause this much grief tae ev'ry subject you wish tae help?"

"No." she answered immediately.

He studied her face, and saw no shame or embarrassment or falseness in it. Her pure desire to help him touched his prickly heart, and made it ashamed. He shook his head, pulling back. "You shouldnae care so much for me." he whispered.

"Why? Because you don't feel the same for me?"

There it was. She had actually spoken it aloud, or at least posed the question, and he closed his eyes. His heart burned within him, but he couldn't. There was too much going on inside his head. Just…too much, and he was too weary to try.

"I am nae worth th' attention aef a queen." he said slowly, trying to get her to understand without having to say too much.

"You are worth everything." her statement was sure and absolute.

"I'm just a huntsman."

"Your status—a title—it does not make a man." She bit out, conviction pouring from her in waves. Her eyes burned with the same fire he had seen when she rallied the Duke and his army to battle. It exhilarated and frightened him. "Honour. Courage. Heart. These things are what make a man noble, what make him worthy."

His face darkened, and grew grim. "Then you giv' your attention tae th' wrong man." he mumbled, and turned to leave.

Snow White stared at him in disbelief as he stepped determinedly to the door, and then she stalked forward and grabbed him. Closing her fingers tightly over his shoulder. "Eric…!"

His bit off exclamation stunned and froze her where she stood, staring as he pulled harshly away, his face twisting as turned from her, holding his arm. It throbbed sharply where she had grabbed him, and he cursed.

"Eric," she breathed, stepping forward and reaching for him. "What happened?"

He froze, and then he closed his eyes when her fingers touched his skin, brushing over the angry, welted, scabbed line that cut up the back of his neck. It had been hidden by his shirt and his hair all this time, but now she had pulled his shirt low when she caught hold of him, and with his hair fallen to one side she could see it well.

Her fingers brushed his shoulder, in a gesture that asked her silent question—what other wounds could she not see? For the line on his neck was obviously a whip mark. "What happened?" she demanded.

He pulled away from her hand, avoiding her touch like the plague. He didn't dare let her touch him again, or study him too closely. Even though a small voice in the back of his head told him all was lost. "Nothin'. I'm fine."

"Don't lie to me!" she pleaded, following, not allowing him to get away. "Who did this to you?"

"Why doan' you mind yu'r own business." he snapped, breathing heavily.

She had followed him to the wall where he could go no further, trapping him with no escape, and she stood her ground, her fair face lifted to his and unrelenting. "Tell me!"

"Fine!" He broke jaggedly, his voice the hushed version of a shout, his dark face furious. "You want tae know what I'm worth?! Thes is what I'm worth!" He tore the collar of his shirt down, revealing the welts and dark, bloody lines that ran over his shoulder and disappeared under the fabric. Snow White stared, aghast.

"Eric…" she whispered, her voice trembling.

"You talk aef honour an' bein' worthy." he crowded her with his looming form and walking her back, looking down at her with an expression of absolute fury. "Well I'm neither. I'm a bile-filled drunk, filled wi' anger an' bitterness, who owed everyone everythin' an' paid naethin'. I took money fro'a man I knew better aef, an' t'day he collected." The burst of strength gained from his rage dissipated quickly; his weariness and pain sapped any ability or desire to fight, leaving him defeated and stinging with shame. He set his face like stone, his jaw clenched and hard.

But Snow White looked into his eyes, and could see the love and despair he tried so hard to hide. She put a hand upon him, laying it open upon the hard warmth of his chest. "You did not deserve it, Eric." she said, and when he all but rolled his eyes and looked away she moved so that he had to look at her, never breaking the connection of her hand. "You didn't." she hissed with conviction. "Look at me. Eric," she all but pleaded. "Look at me."

He did so at last. He could feel wetness on his lashes, but nowhere else yet, and the muscle in his jaw worked tensely as he determined to keep it that way.

Please, my queen. Do not be so kind.

It will destroy me.

She reached up and held his cheek, rigid beneath her touch, and she kept her eyes connected to his: "Whatever you have suffered, whatever darkness held you, it is past. I know who you are; in here." She moved her hand to lay over his heart, and its steady resonance beat against her palm. "Your honour led you to stay by my side and protect me, whatever your cost. Your nobility led men in battle, to follow you wherever you led."

Eric shook his head, a single breath coming out ragged before he controlled himself, and he tried to look away, but she would not let him.

"You have given so much. Risked so much."

He stared at her, wanting to believe. Wanting to believe so badly. But the shadow was still there, the doubt and defeat clinging.

She pressed her mouth thin, and then took practical matters in hand. "Sit down." she said, and let her hands drop for a moment, giving him space. "Let me tend you."

Eric looked away, trying to collect his scattered and agitated thoughts. Grateful that she allowed him that. "You doan' need to." he murmured thickly.

"Yes."

"No…"

"Yes." she touched his face again, and he could not help closing his eyes and sucking in a breath at the touch. Whatever it was he mumbled must have sounded like complete foolishness to her, because she dropped her hand and shook her head at the words.

"You can't properly reach the wounds on your back." She answered, mumbling as well, and she turned. "I will be back." She left the stable, closing the door carefully behind her.

Eric stood still, his one arm hanging at his side, still holding it with his other hand, his eyes downcast as he warred within himself. He burned at the thought of her seeing him in his weakness. His degradation. Yet he found that he craved her touch, her gentleness, so much. Too much. For her to so willingly care for him, for the first time in so long, was as unfair as putting a feast before a starving man.

Snow White returned in a little while, with a small pot of faintly steaming water, a clay mug, and a small pack of her own. "I had been warming some for tea." she said, indicating the small pot. "A blessing there's more water here than one cup can hold." Sitting down beside his bedroll and the glowing lantern, she dipped the mug into the warmed water and then opened her pack and pulled out a small parcel of dried leaves. She put some into the mug, and stirred them into the water.

She didn't say anything more. She just busied herself, pulling things from the pack and getting them ready.

Finally he swallowed and stepped, dragging his feet till he had reached the glow of the lantern. Then he sat down. Slowly. Stiffly. Till he was before her, his face lax, his eyes unable to look at her.

Snow White had brought out the supplies from her bag, as well as the cloths and salve from his bag. She waited for him, patiently. "Take off your shirt." She said, her voice quiet.

Eric closed his eyes, her simple request making his stomach clench, but he obeyed. Or tried to. It seemed no matter how he tried the shirt stuck to his back, and lifting and moving his arms in such a manner pulled on the wounds and brought a stinging to his eyes. When he groaned in embarrassed frustration he heard her moving, and then felt her small hands taking hold of the cloth at his back.

"Here." she murmured. "Let me help you."

Gently, carefully, she pulled the fabric free in small increments, apologizing when he winced. With painful slowness they managed to lift his shirt up his back, and then he somehow got his arms raised high enough to pull them from the sleeves, though his face twisted and he hissed. At last she pulled the shirt over his head, and tossed it aside, and then she held the back of his neck gently, apologizing while he sighed in relief.

"Here." she pulled out the used, soggy leaves, and gave him the mug. It was not hot, but still warm. "Drink this."

The taste was bitter and strong. Eric drank it quickly, in four swallows, and then he set the cup down. A few moments later a faint buzzing began, a heady sensation causing him to blink. It did not take away the pain, but it was enough to dull the sharp edge of it.

The warmth from the lantern felt good on his bared skin. She moved the lantern so that most of its light was upon him, so she could see to do her work. From the corner of his eye he saw her expression when she finally could see, in the flickering light, the full damage done to him. The long swollen, red welts that ran from his neck to his waist. Most of them were bloody and split, the edges of the broken skin angry and irritated. The blood had dried, in rivulets where it had run, and in splotches where the shirt had soaked in it and then dried. Dirt stained his one side where he had lain on the ground.

The wounds were not just on his back. They were along the edges of his ribs, and upon his shoulders, running down onto his arms.

He must look a wretched sight.

He could not look at her. He dropped his head, resting it on his one raised knee, closing his eyes so he would not have to see her face.

The first touch of water was unexpected, and he jerked from the sting. The water was warm, which was soothing, and her touch as gentle as it could be as she washed away the grime and the dirt and the blood. Still it hurt, and he clenched his teeth. At times the wet cloth would run over a particularly tender spot, and he would shudder, and then a quiet sound would escape. After a while it seemed that every wound was on fire, and still the warm cloth ran over his skin.

"I'm sorry." she whispered at times when he groaned. "I'm sorry."

At last the washing ended. Eric pressed his forehead to his knee, breathing deeply and evenly. He waited, not knowing what was next, his muscles tensing in dreaded anticipation.

It was warm. And soothing. It softened the crusted stripes and the edges of broken skin, the smell of warm oil and herbs filling his nostrils. Her movements were slow, gentle, caressing. Over and over again she wiped his back and shoulders and neck with the soft cloth, pausing only to add more oil. Her motions were so relaxed and unhurried that some of the tension from the last few days began to drain away, and with it the rigid control he had over himself. She tended to his wounds with the care of an angel, and brushed his hair tenderly from his neck, stroking it over and over again even when the last strand had been brushed aside. He had rarely been cared for in such a manner in his life. The first had been his mother, who had been lost to him at the beginning of Ravenna's reign. The second, and last, person to care for him had been Sarah.

He had not been worth the attention; not for a long, long time. When Sarah had seen fit to love him anyway, to give him the affection and respect he so desperately craved and did not deserve, he had clung to it. With the loss of her he had believed that his one chance to have such love and care had been lost forever.

Yet here she was.

Snow White. His Queen among the angels.

A strange grief rose up in him. It filled him, rising so that he had to swallow it back, rising to his eyes and finding release there.

A small voice in his head said that it was his weariness, the days without sleep, that affected him so, and nothing more. And he supposed that it was partially true.

But not completely.

He must have made a small sound, or perhaps a shudder had run through his shoulders, betraying him. For she paused in her ministrations, and gently brushed his hair with her hand. "What?" she asked. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head; he could not answer.

She paused, then gently brushed her hand over his hair again. "Eric?"

She moved, coming around, and he lifted and turned his head away from her and towards the fire-lit lantern in an attempt to hide himself from her. He wiped his hand down his face.

She was now before him, and she took his face with her hands even as he closed his eyes. Her thumb brushed his skin, spreading the wetness across his cheek.

"What…"

"Doan'." he whispered. He swallowed, trying to be rid of the thickness in his throat.

Her fair eyes looked upon him, distressed and warm. "Eric."

"Please." he begged.

"I'm right here." she whispered, echoing her promise from before. She stroked his cheek, her green eyes tender. "I'm right here." she whispered again, and again. "I'm right here."

Eric's thoughts were spinning like a storm, and his tongue followed them, his tether on it long gone. He shook his head, his voice thick and miserable. "I ne'er wanted you tae see me like thes."

"It's all right." she reassured, so close that he could smell her, her scent warm like cedar wood and filling his senses with its calm.

"No." he pulled in a breath, and his voice was low and filled with gravel. "I am nae worthy aef you. I am nae worthy…"

"Yes you are." she said, her voice still a soft whisper. Her clear, green eyes trying to understand.

"No…" he could not think straight, too exhausted to try. His body was past wanting to lie down; his tongue kept on, mirroring his thoughts. The shame burned within him, hot and consuming. "They whipped me." he confessed hoarsely, and he opened his eyes and looked at her. Hot with despair. "They whipped me like an animal. An' I let them."

"You did not deserve it."

"I should 'ave fought. I did nae."

"If you had, you would be dead." Snow White said. "Your choice was to be whipped and keep your life, or fight and lose it." She fingered his hair, cradling his head within her hands. "You are not a lesser man because of it. What they did to you…it is on their heads, your blood on their hands. Not yours."

That much he could believe. How could he not? Snow White said it was so, and she never lied. Not to him. Something let loose inside, the shame that had held him, and he felt some small measure of relief. With it came a surge of something else. Something that filled him and made him want beyond anything.

Love.

And it was a love he could not, should not, have. Not for her. As much, as badly, as he wanted it, she was beyond his reach. Even though she loved him back—for by now he was sure she did, though he ignored it and pretended otherwise—she was Queen and he was a village huntsman.

He could not stand to reach for her, hoping and believing, only to have her taken from him in marriage to another. As sure a loss as her death.

He closed his eyes again, squeezing them shut, and he reached up and covered her hands with his, to pull them from his face. "Doan'." he rasped.

"What?"

She was confused. Distressed.

"You shouldnae love me." He hissed adamantly. Wishing she wouldn't hold him so tenderly.

"I shall give my heart to whomever I choose." Despite her clipped tone her eyes did not blink, welling and glistening.

"Do you nae understand, girl?!" His harshness paled her, and his blue eyes burned as he looked at her. "I mourned my wife. I 'ave once mourned you. I do nae 'ave enough heart tae break a third time." He released her arms, and his enormous, calloused hand cradled her cheek, feeling its softness and the silken texture of her hair as it caught in his fingers. She tilted her face into his touch, her eyes never leaving his.

She understood. She licked her dry lips, and shook her head. "No." she said hoarsely. "Hope is not gone."

He groaned, closing his eyes. "Girl…"

"Two nights ago I awarded you lands, and with those lands a title." she rushed, not letting him interrupt her. She paused when he opened his eyes to stare at her, frozen as his over-tired mind tried to understand what she was telling him. "At the celebration," she explained. "All those who aided in the war were rewarded, you among them. For all that you have done. You are now the Earl of Arasgain, Lord and Noble."

The lines around his eyes pinched; did he understand her correctly? Was she truly saying what he believed her to be saying, or was his tired mind hearing things? But no, she was watching him earnestly, waiting for his reaction, a light in her eyes and the hesitant beginnings of a smile upon her lips, urging him to believe her and rejoice.

"You are of noble title." she said again. And pulled herself closer, so that he could see every fleck of gold in her eyes. His heart clenched within him, the enormity of what she had just said overwhelming him, heavying his breaths. "There is nothing that stands between us now. No one can speak against it." she was but a breath away. "We are free, Huntsman. Free to love, to be together." She shifted, uncertain, hoping. "If you still want me."

He closed his eyes, and he shook his head. "But…I'm…"

"Shh." Holding his cheeks, she drew close, and tenderly kissed his eye. "I love you, Eric." she said, and kissed his other eye. "I love you with all of my heart." She kissed his strong cheeks and tasted wetness and salt, and then she kissed his jaw. His beard was surprisingly soft. His eyes remained closed, and his lips were parted, his breath silent and deep as she loved him. "You are for sure worth saving." she whispered.

A choked sound left him then as his own words were echoed back to him. She knew…she had heard him that night…he hadn't known, had never guessed.

"I am not out of reach, Huntsman. Reach for me. I'm right here."

Somehow those words released him, and he caught her with his strong hands and pressed his mouth to hers, kissing her, pulling in her lips and tasting her warmth. It was as if Heaven had finally given him that which he had been craving all these years, and he drank from her mouth as a dying man drinks water. She healed him and warmed him, soothing the places within that had ached hollowly for an eternity, filling him with her presence till he overflowed. He whispered to her, quietly, quickly, the words of his native tongue spilling from his lips, his breath warm against her skin.

At last the hunger receded, and Snow White sat back and looked up at him, her eyes bright and glowing as they beheld his countenance. His love for her was unmistakeable now, shining from his weary eyes without any barrier.

He swayed where he sat, and she placed a final kiss to his forehead.

She finished tending to his wounds. Salve was applied, and bandages laid across and tied into place.

Then she helped him to put his shirt back on, and coaxed him to lay down, and in his weariness he allowed her, unable to think of anything but her warmth and safety—and of sleep.

He laid—slowly and stiffly—face down upon the soft bed of straw and blankets, with her soft hands pulling the blankets around him and stroking his hair, whispering "I love you, Eric" in his ear.

Within moments of settling he fell asleep.

* * *

_Chapter 3: Preview:_

_…Snow White pulled in a great lungful of air, and then she bellowed as loudly as she could: _

_ "ERIC!" _

_ A blow caught her face, and she was thrown back, dazed and her head ringing. Vaguely she could hear frantic movement and heavy breaths…_


	3. Chapter 3

**Snow White and the Huntsman**

**"The King and Queen of Hearts"  
**

**Chapter Three**

* * *

_Previously: _

_"I am not out of reach, Huntsman. Reach for me. I'm right here."_

_Somehow those words released him, and he caught her with his strong hands and pressed his mouth to hers, kissing her, pulling in her lips and tasting her warmth. It was as if Heaven had finally given him that which he had been craving all these years, and he drank from her mouth as a dying man drinks water. She healed him and warmed him, soothing the places within that had ached hollowly for an eternity, filling him with her presence till he overflowed. He whispered to her, quietly, quickly, the words of his native tongue spilling from his lips, his breath warm against her skin._

_At last the hunger receded, and Snow White sat back and looked up at him, her eyes bright and glowing as they beheld his countenance. His love for her was unmistakeable now, shining from his weary eyes without any barrier._

_He swayed where he sat, and she placed a final kiss to his forehead._

_She finished tending to his wounds. Salve was applied, and bandages laid across and tied into place._

_Then she helped him to put his shirt back on, and coaxed him to lay down, and in his weariness he allowed her, unable to think of anything but her warmth and safety—and of sleep._

_He laid—slowly and stiffly—face down upon the soft bed of straw and blankets, with her soft hands pulling the blankets around him and stroking his hair, whispering "I love you, Eric" in his ear._

_Within moments of settling he fell asleep._

* * *

Snow White sat against a bale of hay, a warm scratchy, woolen blanket wrapped tightly around her. She had been ready to return to her room, but it had been an hour and she had yet to move. Something inside of her could not leave him; was afraid of what would happen if she did. So she remained, keeping her vigil. Watching in the glow of the lantern. His face was relaxed in sleep, his breaths deep and heavy and even.

She prayed he would not dream tonight.

He did not. All was quiet and peaceful, the golden lantern light flickering over their forms. Her eyes began to grow heavy, and her limbs became languid and relaxed. With increasing frequency her head began to nod forward.

Then he moved and grunted.

Snow White snapped awake. She sat up and leaned forward, watching, listening. Eric shifted beneath his blankets, restless. Agitated. His breathing was no longer even, and his face pulled into hard, tense lines. For what seemed like forever she just waited, her heart breaking. She knew he was dreaming, but she had also learned from the dwarves that nothing could wake him but the morning's light. Such a sense of helplessness had rarely ever washed over her, and she slowly crawled across the dirt floor, hay pricking her hands and knees, till she was at his side. Then she hugged her knees. "Father in Heaven," she prayed, her lips barely moving as she whispered. "Hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors. Lead us not into temptation…" She paused and swallowed. "Deliver us from evil. Amen."

'_Please, Father God._' she begged silently. '_Please deliver us. Deliver him._'

An hour passed slowly. Eric shifted and grunted, flinching and reaching out to grab onto the blankets with white knuckles. Snow White rocked as she held her knees. Sometimes she hummed. Most times she prayed. Finally she couldn't resist and reached out, laying a hand gently on his shoulder. "Shh. I'm here." she whispered.

It was like she had touched him with a branding iron. The moment her hand contacted him Eric jerked back, and then he turned in the blankets and craned his head back until the muscles in his neck bulged. A terrible sound left him…and Snow White reacted instinctively. It had been her touch to cause this, but as he struggled against something unseen it became apparent that it had not hurt him…but Ravenna. She waited for a moment for the violent reaction to pass, but it didn't. It was as though the dead queen were taking it out on Eric, and she knew something had to be done.

"Eric!" She called, putting her hands on him again. That caused an immediate reaction, and she had to hold onto him tightly as he pulled in her grasp and fought with his hands. He was so strong that she was thrown from him more often than not, and she knew she would have dark bruises the next day, but still she tried, spurred on by his horrible cries. She called to him, loudly, shouting at him to wake up. The din they were making was enough to wake the dead. The horses were snorting and crying out, their eyes wide as they danced and pawed the ground. The struggle was terrible, but she could tell that something was happening…his eyes were starting to flicker even as he yelled and twisted against her. His movements were becoming less and less blind and more sure and directed. Snow White pulled in a great lungful of air, and then she bellowed as loudly as she could:

"ERIC!"

A blow caught her face, and she was thrown back, dazed and her head ringing. Vaguely she could hear frantic movement and heavy breaths, and when she raised her eyes, holding her face with one hand, she saw Eric scrabbling back into the stable wall, his eyes open and wild and his chest heaving. But awake. He reached the corner and pressed into it, turning his face against the rough wood as a grimace of pain overtook his features. Shifting he groaned, and turned so that his back was partially to her. As Snow White pulled herself to her knees, ready to go to him, the stable door crashed open causing her to jump with her heart in her throat.

"What is this?" William snapped, fear and fight and fire all present in his eyes as he held up his sword. The guards behind him were similarly prepared, ready to fight whatever enemy they might chance upon.

Snow White barely heard him, relieved he was there, her attention once more on Eric. She crawled to him, gasping his name as her breath returned to her.

William looked between them and understanding dawned on his face. Dropping his sword he came forward, concern in his blue eyes, coming to his knees beside the two huddled figures. "Another dream?"

Snow White nodded mutely, and gently touched the back of Eric's shirt—newly stained and wet. Eric squeezed his eyes shut, baring his teeth with a hiss. Some of the wounds had opened.

"Ravenna." William breathed, staring at the blood.

Snow White kept her hand on Eric's arm, feeling the tremble, allowing him the moment to collect himself. "She is even here." she whispered, her jaw tight. "She won't leave him be even here!"

"What should we do?" William asked, grave.

"We should return to the castle." She said.

"It is the middle of the night."

"She is richt." Eric rasped, speaking for the first time since waking. He kept his face turned against the wood, his eyes closed, but still he spoke. He took a deep breath. "Thaur will be nae mair sleep tonicht."

* * *

Their arrival was met with a dark and troubled company. The dwarves, Duke Hammond, several of her closest and wisest council members, and Gaius. The physician took charge of Eric immediately, whisking him away to the healing room before anyone had a chance to question him. Snow White waved aside the ire, firmly stating that any questions could be asked of her and William. The new Earl of Arasgain was to be left alone, under the watchful eye of the royal physician.

"What news?" she asked wearily but sternly, removing her riding gloves as she walked through the hall with everyone following her, William at her side with a dark and troubled expression.

"We believe we may have found Ravenna's treasure." Duke Hammond said, walking directly behind and to the side of her. "A large brass mirror was removed by a smith's apprentice who thought it a shame to waste such material and craftsmanship."

Snow White slowed down and turned, her pale green eyes wide with the hope and disbelief. "The mirror from her private chambers?" She asked. "That should have been the very first thing destroyed!"

"You know this mirror, then?" Duke Hammond frowned, concerned at her furious reaction.

"It is imbued with magical properties." Snow White exclaimed, her eyes beginning to burn. "Ravenna would speak with it whenever she sought guidance."

"I am sorry, Your Majesty." Hammond looked chagrined, and worried.

She waved his apology aside. "Don't blame yourself, hardly any knew of it. Do we have it now?"

"It is being brought in as we speak." The Duke paused. "Are we sure this is the item we have been seeking?"

Snow White nodded. "We will check with Muir once it is here. But if anything could hold her here, it is the Mirror."

* * *

It was the Mirror. Beith had brought the news to Gaius' chambers, his worn and weathered face relieved and hopeful as he told Eric and Gaius. "The forges are being fired now." he said. "And the mirror will be destroyed within a couple of hours."

Eric was sitting on a cot. He sighed, putting his hands on his knees and closing his eyes.

Beith grew solemn, and crouched down in front of the huntsman. "How are you holding, Huntsman?"

Eric groaned and rubbed a hand down his face, as though to wipe away the sleep that kept trying to pull him under. "Doan' ask."

Gaius was mixing something in a cup. It was black and thick and though it smelled extremely good it also smelled extremely strong. He blew the steam from it and handed the cup towards Eric, who wrinkled his nose and turned.

"Nae again, Gaius."

"Yes, dear boy."

"Th' first one was good, but efter four my stomach is churnin'."

"I'll add some milk to it this time." Gaius relented, his grey eyes dimming with sympathy. "And you can just sip it."

Eric rubbed his face again, then rubbed his neck, trying to stretch it out.

"What is that stuff?" Beith asked curiously, the rich aroma filling the nose.

"It's from th' far east. They caa'it 'coffee'." Eric said, his words slurring together. "It's supposed tae help keep a bodie awake."

"Does it really work?" The grizzled dwarf asked with interest.

"A little." Eric looked up, lines of weariness deep in his face. "Th' first wasnae sae bad. But now…Makes my nerves jump an' my stomach turn."

Gaius turned, and once again handed the cup to Eric, who reluctantly took it this time. The liquid was no longer so dark, but lightened from the cream. He took a small sip, and Gaius sat down next to him. "Is that better?" The aged physician asked softly.

Eric lowered the cup and nodded. "Aye."

Beith stayed with them, talking and providing a change to the company the physician and patient had kept for several hours. Eric slowly drank his fifth cup of the dark eastern brew. The beverage was helping, but it was still a losing battle. They were fighting against weeks of poor sleep, and several nights of none. Eric's eyes kept slipping shut, only to snap open with a start. Finally Gaius suggested that they walk, and soon the three of them were out walking the quiet, moonlit halls. The activity helped, though Eric's steps were uneven and sometimes he swayed as though in a drunken stupor. With the occasional help from Gaius's surprisingly strong grip, and Beith's solid support, he managed to stay upright and awake. Then, as they walked passed the great double doors to the Royal Hall he paused and looked in. Torches were gently flickering on the walls within, on their last few minutes of burning light, and while the flowers were gone the ribbons strung up for the Ceremonies were still there. He turned, and entered the open space, walking slowly as he looked around. His two companions followed behind.

"Is it true, then?" he asked, turning and looking at them. "That I am no' a Lord an' Earl?"

Beith returned his gaze with a steady one of his own. "It is." he answered.

Eric nodded, allowing his mind to wander as it wanted over that fact. An Earl. With lands and manor. With the rights of Court and nobility…and the right to court the lady of his choice. It still did not seem real to him. For one moment, during the ride here, he had been tempted to grow angry. Angry that she felt she could manipulate to get what she wanted. But he knew that was just exhausted nonsense, and had quickly thrown out the rebellious thought. He was among many who had been rewarded, and he knew that the titles and lands that the others had been given were fair and just for their acts of valor. He had not been singled out.

But it did put him in a most promising and…interesting…position.

A coldness fell over him, and a shadow over his eyes. Quickly he looked up, fully expecting to see the tapestries moving in a breeze and the torches burned out, but all was still and the torches were as bright as ever. Just as he began to wonder and feel alarm a force hit into him, throwing him back into a pillar with such force that he couldn't breathe when he fell to the floor. He heard cries from Beith and Gaius, heard the sound of bodies hitting stone, and then the doors slammed shut with a sound of thunder…

And he was alone.

"_Huntsman_…"

* * *

Beith scrambled to his feet, his chest heaving to regain his breath. Grabbing Gaius's arm he helped the older man to his feet, and then turned away as Gaius put his hands to his knees, gasping. The dwarf stared at the closed doors, and then with a roar he ran and hit them.

They did not move.

"It is Ravenna!" Gaius declared breathlessly, alarm making his voice sharp.

Beith turned. "Go, fetch the Queen!" he said. "Bring a guard…bring anyone…hurry!"

From within there was a loud thudding of a body, and then a horrible keening filled the air, raising the hair on the dwarf's neck.

* * *

"What do ye want, Ravenna?" Eric demanded, rage giving him the strength to stand, and he turned round and round, looking for any sign of her. "Why me? If ye hate me sae much, why doan' ye jist kill me?"

There was cool air that brushed his neck, the faintest of a whisper, and then a voice in his ear.

"You destroyed me."

A force like an invisible battering ram slammed into him, throwing him back and through the air into another pillar, and then it held him there, his feet dangling several feet from the ground. It felt as though a hand were on his throat. A moment later she appeared, her cold white hand holding him, her marblesque face beautiful and terrible to behold. He tried to gain purchase on the stone pillar with his feet, to give himself some leverage, and he grabbed at her arm…but his hands went through her, the sensation like a cloud of cold mist.

"You took everything from me." she hissed, a red flame lighting in her eyes. The red light began to glow out of her fingers, and Eric felt a burning spread through his body unlike anything he had ever felt before…as if she had poured burning oil through his veins. His body tried to arch, his legs kicking, but she held him still. "Everything that would have saved me…everything I ever loved…"

"Now ye…know…how…it feels!" He somehow managed to spit the words out, and then his voice found new use when the fire erupted within him.

Ravenna leaned over him, trailing her cold fingers down his damp face. "Killing you would be so easy…" she purred dangerously. Then she brought her face to his, and her lips were like ice, her breath deadly cold as she whispered against his ear: "But I want something more from you."

He pushed out with his arms, hoping, straining to gain some hold on her, growling when his hands caught nothing but damp air. His back arched against the pillar.

"I want you to feel pain…to pay, not with your life, but with your misery." she continued to whisper. "And then I will take from you what you cherish most."

"You've already done…that!" he gasped.

The fire left, its absence so abrupt that he cried out and his body went lax with relief. He fought for breath, trying to draw on what few reserves he had, watching the storm build in her ghostly grey eyes. "Why me?" he rasped, already knowing the answer to the question he was about to ask, but trying to gain some time. "Why nae Snow White? Go efter her, an' th' entire kingdom would be at yur mercy…ye could take yur vengeance 'pon all of us…"

Her lips parted in quick, mocking laugh. "I cannot touch her." she said, her eyes glittering. "You think I did not try to first destroy HER? But I cannot…" She sneered, looking him up and down. "The kiss of True Love…" The words dripped from her lips. "I should have known."

Stone scraped his back and opened his wounds, the ground rushing further from him as she pushed him higher up the pillar. Eric ground his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. When she stopped the room was spinning.

"But you couldn't just take my salvation." she hissed, and tears were in her eyes, her entire visage trembling with rage. "You had to take HIM!"

"Who?" Eric ground out. "Yur brother? Th' one who took women an' ruin'd them in every way possible…for his oan' pleasure? I thought ye hated men like him!" He looked at her, his eyes unrepentant and mocking. "Ye should thank me!"

Her roar of rage was enough to shatter his ears and split his skull, but it was the explosion of pain through his torso that arched him back and made his throat raw. The world span around him, and for a long few minutes he could think of nothing…nothing but kicking out at her, at struggling to hold on as she twisted him, over and over again, on whatever it was, causing new pain to steal his breath. After an eternity the shrieks and roars of her rage ended, and she simply held him there, shaking, her tear-stained face burning with wrath. It was still another minute before Eric could gain his own voice under control, and yet another to still the jerking of his limbs and for the dangerous pace of his heart to slow to a safer level. He looked, though he did not want to, and saw the glowing blue spears of a shattered stump protruding from his chest and belly.

Ravenna barred her teeth, fighting for control. "Now you know…" she gasped. "How it felt! Now you know how you ripped out my heart!"

From the corner of his eye and the edge of his awareness Eric saw the doors burst open with splinters of wood, and armed guards poured in with the dwarves and William and Hammond…and Snow White. He saw this, but didn't comprehend it. He heard Snow White cry out at the sight, but it was just background noise to him. It was taking all of his strength not to fade into the blackness that surrounded his vision.

Ravenna's rage disappeared from her face, and it became like a marble statue once more. Impenetrable. Unmoved. Emotionless. Mocking. "So. The rabble has arrived." she said, the corner of her mouth lifting. She let Eric drop, the blue stump disappearing, and he fell to the ground with terrible force. He blacked out for a moment, awareness coming back in eddies until he could hear the voice in his head that said 'Run'. Groaning he turned over, and one hand moved in front of the other, pressed to the solid stone floor, moving. Slowly moving forward. Away. Sounds washed over him in muted tones. There were cries and shouts, but…to some distant corner of his mind…they sounded frustrated, raging, and desperate. Not doomed.

As he crawled his awareness sharpened, and he was able to move faster. His body ached, but that too was muted, and so he crawled with the greatest speed possible. Until an immovable hand pushed him down upon the hard stone floor, pressing his face against its cold, gritty surface.

"Now you will give it to me." Ravenna whispered in his ear.

"I ha'e nothin'!" Eric gritted, struggling against the force that held him down, putting his hands to the floor and trying to push up.

"Yes you do. It is the greatest reason I chose you." she said, her voice eerily gentle. "I searched for her heart; but she no longer has it. She gave it to someone else."

Eric froze, the meaning of her words widening his eyes and quickening his pulse.

"I searched everyone…till you." One cold hand stroked his hair back from his face. She leaned down, and gently pressed a kiss to his cheek, like a brush of snow. "And now, Huntsman…" she breathed. "Give me your heart!"

Ice stabbed into him, deep, deep into his body. Through his back and up. Eric's hands slapped to the floor and dug in, his mouth open in a desperate breath, his eyes wide with shock. He could feel her fingers reaching and clawing within him, enough to bring the blackness once more. But he fought. With renewed strength he fought, rage and love growing like a tide within him. His voice rose in fury:

"_Ye cannae 'ave her heart!_"

Her cry of frustration filled his ears, and her fingers clawed violently…but they could get no closer to the warm pulse of his heart as it beat wildly within him, as though an impenetrable shield protected it.

"Give me you heart, Huntsman!" She screamed, and in the next moment he was sure death had come upon him as blades of ice filled his body…

And then it was gone. His breath left him, and he lay. Unmoving.

Horrific screams sounded above him, and flames licked up her writhing form to engulf her. And then she melted away into a glowing, golden pool, spilling to the floor and disappearing in a hiss and cloud of steam.

It was silent.

Eric floated; the hard floor beneath him, pressing into his hands and cheek with its grit, was the only thing that gave him any solidity…and even that swayed back and forth, as though on ocean waves. His body was both consumed by an overwhelming ache and a complete numbness that made nothing seem real. His vision greyed, torchlight flickering on the edge.

It was still.

Hands grabbed him. They held his shoulders and back and arms and head; solid hands, warm, and real. They rolled him onto his back and began to touch him everywhere, voices creating a confusing haze of noise all around him. It was too much, all at once. He pushed against them, turning the little he could, and he must have made a noise because his raw throat began to burn from the use of it, and then there was one voice…only one…a low voice, strong and stern, sending the others away. One set of hands touched him now, feeling his forehead, laying a hand on his chest to feel his heart.

A second voice spoke. Quiet, fair, sweet…the voice of an angel…

"Eric?"

And then it was blessedly dark.

* * *

_Chapter 4: Preview: _

_Snow White sat on the hard bench, her feet pulled up onto it, her body curled and leaning against the wall. Her face was pale and drawn, her eyes red. Duke Hammond and William had taken it upon themselves to hold a meeting with the council, and then to address the court, on her behalf. Explanations had been demanded of her, but the Duke and his son had wisely seen that for now she was unfit to address anyone. According to William, who had visited briefly not too long ago, the story had been told and everyone's concerns and worries put at rest. Their Queen, they were told, was well and safe and resting. Ravenna was at long last completely defeated. The Mirror was destroyed, and the material disposed of, never to be used to make anything ever again… _

_…She gave a sharp intake of breath, and covered her mouth. _

_"There." Gaius was suddenly beside her, and his still strong arms pulled her close and enveloped her in warmth, smelling like herbs and oil. "There." he whispered as she began to shake…_


	4. Chapter 4

**Snow White and the Huntsman**

**"The King and Queen of Hearts"  
**

**Chapter Four**

* * *

_Previously:  
_

_"Give me you heart, Huntsman!" She screamed, and in the next moment he was sure death had come upon him as blades of ice filled his body…_

_And then it was gone. His breath left him, and he lay. Unmoving._

_Horrific screams sounded above him, and flames licked up her writhing form to engulf her. And then she melted away into a glowing, golden pool, spilling to the floor and disappearing in a hiss and cloud of steam._

_It was silent._

_Eric floated; the hard floor beneath him, pressing into his hands and cheek with its grit, was the only thing that gave him any solidity…and even that swayed back and forth, as though on ocean waves. His body was both consumed by an overwhelming ache and a complete numbness that made nothing seem real. His vision greyed, torchlight flickering on the edge._

_It was still._

_Hands grabbed him. They held his shoulders and back and arms and head; solid hands, warm, and real. They rolled him onto his back and began to touch him everywhere, voices creating a confusing haze of noise all around him. It was too much, all at once. He pushed against them, turning the little he could, and he must have made a noise because his raw throat began to burn from the use of it, and then there was one voice…only one…a low voice, strong and stern, sending the others away. One set of hands touched him now, feeling his forehead, laying a hand on his chest to feel his heart._

_A second voice spoke. Quiet, fair, sweet…the voice of an angel…_

_"Eric?"_

_And then it was blessedly dark._

* * *

Snow White sat on the hard bench, her feet pulled up onto it, her body curled and leaning against the wall. Her face was pale and drawn, her eyes red. Duke Hammond and William had taken it upon themselves to hold a meeting with the council, and then to address the court, on her behalf. Explanations had been demanded of her, but the Duke and his son had wisely seen that for now she was unfit to address anyone. According to William, who had visited briefly not too long ago, the story had been told and everyone's concerns and worries put at rest. Their Queen, they were told, was well and safe and resting. Ravenna was at long last completely defeated. The Mirror was destroyed, and the material disposed of, never to be used to make anything ever again.

Now if she only knew one final answer:

How was her Eric?

At last Gaius came out of the room adjoining his public healing room. That other room was smaller, private, with only one of the several beds made and full. Gaius quietly closed the door behind him, wiped his clean hands dry on a towel, and rubbed his weary eyes.

Snow White unfolded herself and stood up from the bench, pushing tangled hair from her face. "Well?"

Gaius looked at her, and took a deep, relaxing breath. Then he smiled. "He is sleeping." he said. "Finally, and truly. I do not know what aches or pains he may feel when he wakes, but there is no harm done to his body. Besides the painful bruise here and there. And the…lashes…upon his back."

A great tightness released itself from her chest, and Snow White reached back for the bench and sat down, suddenly finding her lungs able to take in air and doing so, greedily. It made her head swim.

He was all right.

Eric was all right.

"He will be fine, then?" she asked, her voice shaking as she looked up for final confirmation to her hope.

Gaius nodded, sitting on a small wooden chair. "I believe so. With plenty of rest, he should be as well as he ever was."

Snow White nodded and looked down, suddenly finding the emotion welling up within her too much to bear his kindly gaze. She gave a sharp intake of breath, and covered her mouth.

"There." Gaius was suddenly beside her, and his still strong arms pulled her close and enveloped her in warmth, smelling like herbs and oil. "There." he whispered as she began to shake. "It is over. It is over, and all is well."

* * *

The firelight was soft and warm, dancing along the walls quietly, playing hide and seek with the pale shadows. The covers were thick and layered, and the feather pillow and mattress a gentle cushion. He slept quietly. For the first time in as long as she had known him the lines were gone from his face. His features were completely relaxed with rest and peace, his lashes dark against skin that was ruddy once more, his cheeks flushed with warmth.

She sat on a chair, leaning against the side of the mattress, listening to the soft sound of his breathing. It had been hours since she had come in, and still she sat completely still, watching. Fascinated with the newness of his face, so used was she to his frowns and lines of trouble and care. The smooth skin and openness was mesmerizing, and she began to feel all of the tension seeping out of her and dissipating into the air. Reaching out she gently caught some clean, brown hair around her fingers and she pulled it back, smoothing it from his face and back across the pillow. He shifted at the touch, a contented movement; his hand, holding the covers, tucked beneath his chin. Snow White smiled.

And waited.

* * *

Long, dark eyelashes fluttered against smooth skin. He burrowed deeper into his pillow, trying to hold on to the warm remnants of rest that surrounded him. He couldn't remember a sleep more deep, or more sweet and full. His thoughts were slow. They floated, and he was content.

"My Lord?" A low voice spoke, coaxing his thoughts to awareness; they latched onto the voice and the words and pulled him further into wakefulness. Eric turned his face into his pillow, sighing.

"My Lord? Eric." The voice coaxed again.

There was no returning. Eric exhaled in resignation, and slowly his eyes opened, blinking as they adjusted to the golden firelight. The grey haired physician was looking down at him, his kindly face relaxed and pleased.

"There you are, my boy." Gaius said, a smile on his face and a twinkle in his grey eyes. "How are you feeling?"

Eric shifted, and felt an uncomfortable pull across his back and shoulders that started an ache throughout his entire body. He stilled, and briefly closed his eyes.

Gaius frowned and leaned over him. "What is it? Are you in pain?"

He swallowed, trying to gain some moisture in his dry mouth, and when he spoke his voice was slightly rough from disuse. "Some."

"Is there sharp pain anywhere?"

Eric was quiet, taking stock. "My back." he whispered hoarsely. "Everythin' else…feels bruised."

The physician's look was piercing and yet gentle. "Can you move?"

Taking a deep breath, Eric braced himself with his arms and pushed, turning and lifting himself onto his elbow. His muscles bunched and ached in protest, but it was a burning, healing ache. They were stiff. That was to be expected, though he was surprised at how weak he felt. Gaius, however, beamed at him, his strong hands helping Eric to sit and turn to lean back against the pillows. "Good. Good." He said. "Don't worry," he said when Eric's arms trembled and the man grimaced in frustration. "You have been asleep for a full night and nearly a full day. Some good food and more rest and you'll be as well as ever."

Eric rested back against the pillows, sighing in relief. Idly he watched as Gaius puttered around the small room, talking about this and that, going to the fire and filling a bowl with something that smelled good, filling a cup with hot water and tea leaves. He truly did feel better. His back was sore, and his limbs ached, but it was the good kind of ache. He was healing, and he felt rested and clear for the first time in…he tried to think, but his mind did not care to do the work of calculating, so he let it go. It had been a long time. That was enough.

"The witch?"

Gaius was arranging things on a small wooden tray. "Gone. The mirror is melted, and she is finally gone."

Eric nodded, hiding his relief behind a slow blink. "And the Queen?" he whispered.

The physician turned. His grey eyes looked knowingly at Eric, his pulled and thin mouth obviously trying not to smile. "She is well, My Lord." he said. "She sat with you all these long hours. I finally sent her for food and a refreshing bath." He walked to the bed, carrying the tray. "She should be back soon." he finished, setting the tray in Eric's lap. On it was a bowl of soup…a dish of rich, smooth broth, savory chunks of vegetables, and beef. There was also a piece of bread, and a cup of softly steaming tea.

The aromas and the sight reminded Eric of how long it had been since he had eaten, and his stomach awoke with a vengeance. He ate, eagerly and at his leisure, finding true enjoyment in the delicious flavors for the first time in a long time. Gaius sat and talked while he ate, chatting about this and that and everything, and Eric found the easy conversation and the company most welcome, and when he had finished he leaned back in the pillows and listened, sipping on his tea.

He was warm, and full, and his limbs began to grow languid once more. As his eyes grew heavy Gaius's voice began to blur, the words blending together.

The last thing he remembered before slipping into sleep once more was Gaius removing the tray, and then pulling the blankets up around him, saying: "Sleep now, my boy. I will tell her Majesty you are well."

* * *

When next he woke it was only briefly. The light was dimmed, and all was quiet, but as his eyes opened a small shape moved beside the bed and then the mattress dipped, and fair green eyes smiled at him. Silk-soft fingers laid on his cheek, gently and slowly running across his beard and stroking the line of his jaw.

"My Queen." He breathed, his eyes blinking slowly.

Her mouth lifted. "My Lord." she whispered.

She gently brushed the hair from his forehead. He closed his eyes at the touch, relishing it as she repeated the motion in a leisurely manner, a cool finger brushing his ear as his hair was stroked back. He felt warmth spread through him from her touch, like a slow, gentle light, and he sighed.

"Is that a smile I see?" Snow White said.

He opened his eyes and looked at her, half-lidded, and the corner of his mouth lifted. Teasing. Slightly mocking. Amused. "Doan' flatter yurself." he mumbled, and was rewarded with a small laugh from her.

"You should sleep." She said.

He grunted and allowed his eyes to slip shut. "I thought I was."

There was silence. He opened his eyes again, to see her gazing down on him with a strange expression. It was so full of emotion he couldn't decipher it, but there were lines around her eyes, and they had narrowed slightly, faintly shimmering in the firelight. "I'm sorry." She whispered, strained. "It was because of me…" She stopped, as if trying to banish what she had seen when the doors had finally broken open, and on her face he could see the helplessness she had felt.

He shook his head. "Shh." he said, his low, gravelly voice causing her to close her eyes. He reached up and gently held the side of her head, feeling the silkiness of her hair against his palm, the softness of her cheek as he stroked it with his thumb.

"She tried to rip out your heart…" She caught her breath.

"She could 'ave it, for you." he whispered, and Snow White's eyes snapped open and stared at him in horror. "But it seems some fool girl gave hers intae my keepin'. Doan' know wh't she was thinkin'." He settled back in his pillow, looking at her with a furrowed brow. "If I had any sense I'd get away from 'er. She's trouble, that's wh't she is."

She dropped her eyes, a chagrined and amused smile replacing the guilt and self-reproach. "I did make you a promise." she said, looking back up.

He turned his head on the pillow, looking at her curiously.

She leaned on her elbows, drawing close to his face. "Someday I will succeed, and I will finally drive you mad."

He laughed. Deep and rich and free; it felt good, and it felt even better to watch her eyes light up and her rose-colored lips curve in response. He remembered riding with her, and mist on the ground, and sunlight shining across the land and in her eyes. The memory filled him even as the warmth of the blankets and the calm of her presence beckoned him back into sleep. His eyes must have slipped shut, because he felt rather than saw her press her soft lips to his forehead, and then her gentle voice whispered in his ear: "Sleep, Eric." There was a pause, and then so quietly he could hardly hear it she whispered: "I love you."

And this time when he dreamed, it was that voice, those eyes, and those words that filled his sleep.

* * *

It had been a year. A full, long year of waiting. A month after the Mirror had been destroyed, when Eric was well and healthy and accepted as a lord by the court—though somewhat doubtfully, by most—he had told her of his intentions to leave. She had protested, but he had looked calmly down at her, tall and broad and dressed now in blue instead of leather, and said: "I'm an Earl no', wi' lands. I must go an' see tae it, an' tae th' people. I must prove myself worthy aef wh't you've given me." He had gently touched her face, and looked at her as he had when he'd first shown her how to defend herself. "A good hunter knows that tae claim 'is prize, he must use patience."

So she had waited, and waited. And waited. William went to Arasgain once to visit for a time, and to offer any assistance that might be needed. When he returned he brought with him a hopeful report. It had been too late in the season, when Eric had been named Earl and gone to his new home, to begin any proper farming. What little had been done was doing poorly due to the weak soil. Eric had spent the time getting to know his land and the people living on it, and on hunting like crazy with a personally chosen hunting party and then distributing what was brought back. He spoke with those who farmed and worked with them on fertilizing the soil so that the next year would be fruitful. When the harvest came, seed was carefully saved. He took what little he had and shrewdly bartered with it to get enough food—plain though it was—to supplement the game they had hunted and the little harvest. In the end, William had said, the land was not rich and the manor was poorly fared as far as an Earl's manor went; but in sacrificing the regular comforts of a lord, Eric had ensured that his people were warm and fed for the entire winter and that they were prepared for planting in the spring.

Spring had come and passed into summer. An official report had arrived from Arasgain, with favorable news regarding the extent of fields planted and the state of the crops growing. Some trades had been established among those who, long ago, had known a trade; and now they were training the younger generation. Fishing had been established along the banks of the great river and along the far, northern shore of the sea. Animals were not plentiful in the forests, but they were returning. In the end things were not as good as they would someday be, but they were fair and well. A start, a hope, and for the first time for many in Arasgain…a good life.

The harvest came and went. A feast of joy and thanks was planned at the palace, to celebrate the peace and bounty that the land was at last enjoying. The news went out, and in every village and town festivities were prepared for the same day.

* * *

It was the time of day, mid-afternoon, when anyone was allowed in who had a difficulty and a problem to present to her Majesty. Snow always did her best to find a solution, though once in a while…to her great consternation…one was not to be found.

Today, before the stream of elders and lords had died, someone else came in. Tall and broad and straight, with a strong face and few words, she knew him before she could fully see his face. She smiled. Her eyes brightened. Sitting up straight she watched him battle the outward current at the door and force his way in, keeping his head up and his "Pardon me, m' lord"s quiet and murmured. Standing, Snow White stepped forward, and greeted him when he finally reached her.

He knelt down on one knee before her, and bent his head. "Your Majesty."

"My Lord, Earl." She inclined her head, and then looked up. Smiling. She pulled in a deep breath, as though to speak. But she waited.

When he raised his fair blue eyes to her they were clear, life and light shining in them. They were intense as they held her countenance. And then he smiled.

Snow White grabbed her skirts and ran down the steps, knowing the doors would not open till she called that she was ready, not caring if someone saw her anyway. He stood and caught her arms as she reached him, breathless and bright eyed, reaching up to touch the soft, trimmed beard, her fingers holding and playing with the edge of his cloak helplessly—wanting to embrace him, wanting to fling herself in his arms, knowing it was not proper.

Not yet.

His mouth pulled to the side, looking down at her appraisingly. "Haur you are." he said, looking her up and down. "All dressed up an ready tae gie me more grief."

Snow White laughed. She'd missed that…his gruff way of talking. His gentle bite and bark. That mischievous, teasing light in his eye that refused to take her too seriously. "I've missed you." she breathed, looking up at his face. Strong and beautiful as ever.

"An' I you." Eric said, his hands still upon her arms, holding her firmly yet gently. "I was tae die fro' boredom without yur frustrations an' yur wit."

She pulled in a breath, staring up at him. Did she dare? Was it too soon? She let her hands open upon his chest, her fingers nervous as they stilled.

Her silence brought a frown and quirk to his mouth. Then a large, callused hand cupped her cheek and brought her gaze to his face, and his blue eyes were gentle and wistful. "Haur," he said softly. "Whaur is my wayward queen gone, th' one who used tae gie me sae much grief? Does she nae longer need a rough, bitter auld soldier tae keep 'er company?"

A strange emotion welled up within her, and as she blinked glistening eyes her face broke into an all encompassing smile. "I need him." she said, her voice thick. She knew her heart was in her eyes. "I need him more than ever."

He began to smile.

A laugh was in her voice, and hope in her countenance. "Forever, if he'll have me…"

She barely got the last word out before being enveloped in warmth and strength and the rich, spicy smell of the forest, his lips on hers, so incredibly soft and yet strong and firm in their claim. Wrapping her arms around his neck she responded in kind. Her eyes slid closed, and she savored him. Drank in his love and his strength till she was heady from it.

When at last her feet were set on the floor her heart seemed to encompass all of her body, for she could feel its beat everywhere. She looked up into his eyes, so brightly blue and as deep as twin oceans. His face was flushed, and his breath was steady…but deep, and heavy.

His smile was quick and sure.

"You 'ave a deal."


End file.
